Tom Marvolo Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort
by Karuha
Summary: The puzzle of Tom Riddle's life has been a mystery to all. No one knows the full story of the orphaned boy who would grow up to become the most powerful wizard of all time. Soon you will.
1. Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived

Chapter One

The Boy Who Lived

Beatrice Cole was proud to finally be out working. It was New Year's Eve and bitterly cold. Snow was falling lightly on her simple black cap, but she knew that the dark clouds overhead would soon turn into a blizzard. The bleak sun that had shone throughout the day had given way to a deep gray veil that fell over the street. The gas lamps that stood along the street were now being lit. Ms. Cole stood in front of a building that would be the last place you would expect anything happy or cheerful to happen, because it was such a grim building.

Ms. Cole was the newest helper at Grundlers, which cared for orphans. She was a skinny woman, with sharp features. Her mother assured her that some day she would grown into it. Currently her face was contorted into an anxious expression as she cupped her hands together and blew warm over them.

She did not notice the girl, who appeared to be no older than Ms. Cole, aimlessly wandering at the opposite end of the street.

Ms. Cole finally gathered up enough nerve, and she pushed the gates open. They creaked ominously from the cold and clanged shut behind her. Now she was standing inside a bleak bare courtyard covered with gray snow that led to an equally gray, square building surrounded by high railings.

At half past eight, she mounted the few steps that lead to the front door and knocked. It took a few moments before a young woman wearing an apron opened the door.

"I have an appointment with the matron."

"Just a mo'," she said then hollered, "MRS. GRUNDLER!"

Ms. Cole heard a voice bellow back, "WHAT?"

"THERE'S A LASS 'ERE. I THINK SHE'S THE NEW GIRL."

There came a sound of approval, and the girl turned to face Ms. Cole, "Come on in, she'll be here in a mo'." Beatrice Cole stepped into the hallway. The floor was a black and white tiled pattern. The hem of Ms. Cole's overcoat dripped onto the worn, but spotless tiles. A stout, stern-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She rushed down the stairs hardly looking at the girl who stood, covered in snowflakes, at the threshold.

"Ello," Beatrice Cole curtsied slightly, unsure whether this was the correct action to take.

"Good, we need all the 'elp we can get. Martha," she turned to the girl who had shown Beatrice in, "Take her to the spare room and get her settled. Then get her to help with the children. Go, now!"

Martha nodded and led Beatrice into a small room that had a bed with a wooden frame, a desk and chair, and a simple wooden wardrobe.

"'T aint much, but this'll be your new room." Martha held open the door to the room.

"MARTHA! COME HERE NOW! BRING THAT GIRL WITH YOU TOO!" Came Mrs. Grundler's voice from the hallway they had just departed.

Martha rushed at the beck of the matron, and Beatrice hurried after her as well. A flurry of snow had swept into the entryway, and had brought with it a girl, slightly older than Beatrice herself. The girl was bedraggled, wearing rags that covered her pregnant stomach.

"Take her," Mrs. Grundler ordered as she helped the young woman up. "I'll call a doctor." She disappeared from the foyer, presumably to call the doctor.

Martha helped the woman up and the two made their way down the hall. Beatrice was just about to follow them when she heard a knock at the door.

"GET THA' WOULD YA?" Martha shouted back at her. Beatrice spun on the spot and opened the door. Another girl who seemed to be about Beatrice's own age, stumbled through the door.

She too was pregnant.

Beatrice panicked, but then grabbed the girl's arm resolutely and brought her to her feet. The girl was no beauty, and her tangled black hair hung in her face and fluttered as she took a gasping breath. Beatrice walked with her after Martha,

"We've got another 'un." She said upon entering the room where Martha and the first girl were in.

"Well now we've just got 'er." Martha gestured to the first woman, she was as white as a ghost, and she wasn't breathing. "Both of 'em dead." She sighed as she cleaned her hands on her apron. Then Martha became all business.

"We'll take 'er to the next room." And she ushered the two out.

Within an hour the baby was born. Beatrice cleaned the baby boy up and handed him to his mother.

"I hope he looks like his papa," she said as she held the baby, "He's to be named Tom, for his father." She looked up at me; her words were beginning to falter, "And Marvolo, for my father. Surname is Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle." She smiled listlessly and handed the boy back to me, she died soon after that without another word. Martha sighed and led Beatrice from the room. The doctor had just arrived with Mrs. Grundler,

"Nasty weather, it's freezing outside. Is that the child?" He walked up to Beatrice and peered at the boy in her arms. "Looks healthy enough. Did he cry at all yet?"

"No, but he's well enough," Martha answered, "E's breathin' well."

"Good, good, and the mother?"

"She jus' passed." Martha fell silence out of respect for the dead.

"Terrible, just terrible." The doctor muttered as he brushed some snow off of his hat. "Did she live long enough to name the boy?"

"Yes," Beatrice piped up, "Tom Marvolo Riddle, she insisted upon it."

"I see, I see," the doctor pulled out a stethoscope to check the baby's heartbeat. "Strange name, but if that was her wish, we must honor it." He seemed to find nothing wrong as he opened his bag again and deposited the stethoscope back inside.

"I was informed there was a second expecting mother?"

"Dead, as well as her child," Mrs. Grundler reported.

"Truly dreadful, but at least this child lives. I shall inform the record keepers tomorrow morning to have a birth certificate issued for one, Tom Marvolo Riddle." The doctor turned to Mrs. Grundler, "Do you have a tonic? I dare say I'm getting too old for this kind of weather." Just as he said that a gust of wind rattled the windows causing a racket.

"Yes, this way please. You two may join us, but go put him to bed first, Beatrice." Mrs. Grundler instructed Beatrice as she gestured up the stairs. "There's a room at the top of the stairs on the second floor that's empty. There should be a crib there too."

Beatrice nodded and set up the stone stairs, she turned off the second landing and saw the first door in the long corridor was open. She entered the room; it was small and bare with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and a small wooden crib with gray blankets.

"Marvolo," Beatrice Cole muttered to herself as she wrapped the boy in a blanket and set him down in the crib. "Meaning no disrespect to your late mother," she inclined her head to the sleeping baby in her arms, "But it sounds like a name from the circus." She patted his dark hair, which contrasted with his surprisingly pale skin.

A flurry of snow flew past the window of Grundler's Orphanage, which lay silent, the very last place you would expect anything astonishing to happen. Tom Riddle opened his eyes and rolled over in the blankets he had been wrapped in. He glanced through the bars of his crib to the door. A small sliver of light came through, and he couldn't know that downstairs the four adults had flopped down in chairs poured themselves some gin, were holding up their glasses and saying "To Tom Riddle- the boy who lived."


	2. Chapter 2: The Summer Outing

Chapter Two

The Summer Outing

A little over eleven years had passed since the orphanage had come to attain the charge of the young boy who had been born on New Year's Eve, but Grundler's Orphanage had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same bare lot with its dirt and dried grass, lighting up the railing that surrounded the building; it crept into the foyer, which was exactly the same as it had been on the night when the young mother stumbled in through the door. Not much showed how much time had passed, except for the increased dilapidation of the black and white tiles on the floor. The house showed no sign at all of the children who lived there.

Yet children were there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Today was the long awaited summer outing that the children looked forward to during the winter. It was what tided them over during the drearier summer days, as they prayed for fair weather to come.

"Up! Time to get up!"

Tom woke with a start. The shrill voice carried through the hallway, and a sharp rap came from the door.

"Tom, are you up?"

"Nearly," muttered Tom.

"Well, hurry up. We need to get going soon."

Tom groaned. He heard footstep retreat from his door and move down the hallway to the next door. Tom Riddle flung the gray blankets away from him, and stood up.

Tom had a handsome face, pale skin, dark hair, and was quite tall for his age. He walked away from the iron bestead and walked to the old wardrobe in the corner and began to get dressed. His eye caught the outline of the cardboard box that stood on the top shelf of his closet. Tom smirked to himself.

When he was dressed he made his way down the stairs and toward the kitchen. The table was covered with various picnic baskets, all filled to the brim with sandwiches: egg-salad, tuna, chicken, and cucumber. Thermoses filled with apple juice, orange juice, and tea cluttered the surface, and a large paper bag was falling over, and a heaping pile of cookies could be seen within.

"Good morning, Tom," Mrs. Cole said as she prepared more sandwiches, she eyed him warily as he stood before the kitchen table. Mrs. Cole had married once, and when her husband died she resumed her maiden name, she had never left the orphanage, and her late husband had taken great pride in her work.

Tom said nothing in way of greeting, so Mrs. Cole continued to speak.

"There's some muffins and orange juice on the counter if you want," she nodded toward the counter where, sure enough, there was a platter of blueberry muffins and a pitcher of orange juice.

Tom walked over to the counter and sat on a rickety wooden stool. He began eating his blueberry muffin as he watched Mrs. Cole pack the lunches. It was easy to see she was unnerved under his piercing gaze, and just as easy to see her shoulders heave in a sigh of relief as another boy came into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, Billy. How are you?"

Billy Stubbs yawned and then stopped abruptly when he saw Tom sitting at the counter, his eyes grew wide and he unconsciously took a step back. Billy was clearly a year older than Tom, and bigger, but just as clear, was his fear of the boy who was sitting at the counter finishing off his glass of orange juice.

"Come and have some muffins, Billy," Mrs. Cole smiled at the boy as she shut the lid of a picnic basket.

Billy shook his head and refused to step into the kitchen, still watching Tom with horror.

Tom seemed not to notice the boy's horrorstruck countenance, or he simply did not care. Tom finished his juice and left his glass on the counter by the sink. Then headed toward the door where Billy Stubbs stood petrified.

Billy shrank into the wall as far as he could, but Tom walked closely to the boy and whispered something into his ear. Billy just nodded and dashed past Tom into the kitchen, where he immediately began washing out the glass Tom had just used.

Mrs. Cole watched Tom's figure recede and shook her head. She had known the boy all his life, and yet he still refused to open up to her as the other children had. He was always such an odd boy. As a child he hardly ever cried, and as he grew older, he seemed more like a miniature version of an adult rather than a child. Most people would agree with this portion of Mrs. Cole's analysis on Tom Riddle, but she knew better. Tom Riddle had a mean streak in him a mile wide. It was difficult to see, but if you spent as much time around Tom as Mrs. Cole had, it would only become too evident.

Half an hour later, Tom, and the other six orphans, who inhabited Grundler's Orphanage, were standing in the courtyard outside the building, on the way to the sea for an outing of fun and entertainment. Before they'd left, Mrs. Cole grabbed Tom by the arm and drew him aside.

"Tom, before we go out I just want you to know that I know what you've been up to." She looked at him sternly, "I know that somehow you were the one who hung Billy Stubbs's rabbit from the rafters. I have no idea how you did it, but I know you did. And I want you to know that the rest of us who watch over you children have noticed that odd things happen to those you don't like. Any funny business, anything at all-and you'll be in serious trouble, young man."

"I'm not going to do anything," said Tom looking up at her with wide eyes. "Honest…" His tone would have made any other adult believe that Tom was completely innocent, and they would have believed that nothing horrible would happen today.

Mrs. Cole didn't believe him. She never did.

Strange things happened around Tom quite often, and it was no good telling the matrons that he didn't make them happen.

There was the instance with Billy Stubbs's rabbit, but the children of Grundler's Orphanage had seen stranger things where Tom was concerned.

Rats would occasionally scurry out of the dry grass and snap at children who had only just insulted Tom. The rats scared the wits out of the children, causing them to shriek and bring the adults running. When the matrons went out to the yard to look for the rats, there was no sign of them. Calls were made to exterminators and mousetraps were set all over the courtyard, forcing the children to play in the back or remain in the house, yet not a single rat was ever found.

Another time, Mrs. Grundler had been trying to force Tom to take care of the younger children. The more she tried to coerce him into chores, or looking after the children, the more frightened the children became of him. It was evident that this was why they refused to let him join in their games, yet they would never explicitly say why they were quite so afraid of Tom Riddle. One day, Mrs. Grundler confronted Tom about the children's behavior. They had a long chat in her office, from which she emerged crying. She resigned the next day, left Mrs. Cole in charge, packed her things, and left.

On the other hand, Tom seemed perfectly respectable and polite, while some of his compliments sounded like insults the adults could never quite reprimand him. His chores got done one way or another, and Tom was never rowdy or got into fistfights like the other children. And when he was left to his own devices, Tom would shut himself up in his room and read.

Aside for the strange events that happened around Tom Riddle, there didn't seem to be anything terrible about the boy.

The children all left in pairs, except for Tom who stood, without a partner, at the front. The group made their way past the iron gates, and down the bustling London street. Soon they were on a train, heading towards the sea.

The entire party consisted of seven children, and three adults. The children were all excited and chattering happily, as they peered out of the window and stood on their seats, the spirit of joviality. Mrs. Cole had already given up trying to restrain the children as they rocketed around the small compartment.

"Are we there yet?"

"Eric, stop jumping."

"Is it time for lunch?"

"I bet it's warm enough to go swimming!"

"You prat, you cant even swim."

The prattle never ceased as they train sped along the tracks. Tom never said a word.

It was a very sunny Saturday and the beach was crowded with families. Each child was given a little pocket money to spend at the town not far from where the train stopped. The children pushed and shoved to be the first to get their spending money as they crowded around Mrs. Cole.

"Now remember," Mrs. Cole said as she handed each child their money and their lunches, "We meet back here at exactly three o'clock, no later. It is currently," she glanced at the tall clock the overshadowed the rest of the town, "fifteen past noon. So you'll have a little less than three hours to do what you please. Don't get lost, no going to the cliffs, and don't talk to strangers. Stay with your partners. Tom," Mrs. Cole turned and looked the pale-faced boy who had money clutched in his hand. Mrs. Cole did not recall giving any pocket money to the boy, but disregarded it.

"You will partner with Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, you three are around the same age."

The two children she had called, groaned openly, but stopped quickly when Tom cast his gaze toward them.

"Run along now. We will be at that café," she pointed at a small café not far from where they stood. Its' giant wooden sign in the shape of a coffee cup was brightly painted and highly visible.

"Off you go," and the children scattered, except for Amy and Dennis who were following Tom warily. He meandered the streets and paused every now and then to inspect the wares in the windows of the shops, blatantly aware of how frightened his two companions were. He was inspecting the window of a shop that displayed various antiquities and trinkets.

"So what do you want to do?" said Tom as he turned his attention from the golden locket in the window, and looked at the reflections of the two children who stood behind him.

"Um…maybe go to the beach and explore a bit?" Dennis suggested meekly.

"What a splendid idea." Tom said smirking at the two, who cowered even more under his sneer.

"Where shall we go?"

Amy swallowed hard and stuttered, "W-we can go there," she pointed ahead, "to go look at the sea."

Sure enough the children could see the ocean, the little village was situated at the very top of the cliffs. The salty sea air whipped at their hair and clothes as it whisked by them. Tom climbed over the safety fence and clambered over craggy dark gray rocks to reach the edge of the cliff. Amy and Dennis looked as if this was the last thing they wanted to do, but they followed Tom like shadows.

Below them was a sheer drop, black and faceless. Waves crashed against large chunks of rock that looked as if they had fallen from the cliff face at some point in the past.

The view was bleak, and there was no tree or sweep of grass or sand in sight to break the monotony of black rock and black sea.

Tom leaned as far over the edge of the cliff as he could without falling. Amy and Dennis were nowhere near as brave.

"Come on, Riddle, let's go back." Dennis whispered in hushed tones as he watched Tom.

Tom looked over his shoulder, a wicked smile distorting his handsome features.

"Let's climb down. It'll be fun." He went back to the others and ushered them toward the edge of the cliff.

"NO! I don't want to!" Amy tried to twist her wrist out of Tom's vise like grip.

"Now, now don't struggle or you might fall." Tom grinned his terrible grin and began descending. Amy and Dennis looked at each other in horror as they followed.

It was now half past three, and Mrs. Cole was counting the children yet again, as if recounting the children for the hundredth time would prove her wrong.

"Where are those children?" She paced and began counting the children again.

One of the newer girls, who had come to assist for the trip, suddenly gasped and pointed,

"There they are!"

And sure enough there were three solitary figures making their way down the street towards them. Tom in the lead, looking as though he had merely taken a stroll around town, while the other two children were soaked, exhausted, and frightened.

"Where have you three been?" Mrs. Cole shrieked as she kneeled in front of the three children.

"We just went exploring," said Tom innocently, he turned to his companions, "right?" he asked. The other two just nodded dumbly,

"Yeah, exploring," muttered Dennis.

Amy nodded again, "We went into a cave, lost track of the time."

"Are you sure? Because you two look as white as death, but you Tom," she rounded on Tom, "You look as if you've just spent a lovely day around town. What were you three up too?"

"Nothing, Mrs. Cole." Tom swore, "We only went exploring along the beach."

Tom lay in his dark room much later, frowning. He hated this place, absolutely hated it. Tom hated the matrons of this place who patronized him, the children who assumed he was just the same as them. It was ridiculous, could anyone else make animals do as he wished? It wasn't by coincidence he was able to have Billy Stubbs's rabbit hang itself. Could they make objects move without touching them? Could they make bad things happen to the people who annoyed them? Or make them hurt? No. Tom Marvolo Riddle knew he was special, knew he was different.

When he had been younger, Tom had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened. He had no family. Yet sometimes he imagined a world where others realized his talents, respected, and looked up to him. Here he had none of that. They feared him, yes, and that garnered some form of cooperation, but it wasn't enough. Tom rolled over in his bed, and stared out the window. A bird had alighted on the sill, and looked at him with its beady eyes. It was an owl. Tom glared at it, and its wise eyes grew cloudy. The owl fell over backwards, and Tom could hear the sound of a thud as the bird hit the ground below. A self-satisfied smirk grew on Tom's face, which turned to disgust as his thoughts returned to his situation at the orphanage.

At Grundler's, Tom had no one. Everybody knew that the other children were afraid of the odd boy with his pale skin and frightening animosity, and how nobody liked to disagree with Tom Marvolo Riddle.


	3. Chapter 3: The Letters from Someone

Chapter 3

The Letters From Someone

The expedition down to the caves earned Tom more suspicious glances than ever, but he paid them no heed. By now he had given them even more reason to cast their uncertainties upon him. He had already broken little Timothy's toy train, and pinned the blame on someone else. Tom had crashed dishes together without ever touching them, and broke one of the older boy's legs.

Tom was glad that lately, everyone had begun to realize that he was different. Although it bothered him that no one seemed to think that his abilities were remarkable. A lot of the kids ganged up on him, but no one had the courage to face him alone. He simply punished them for their behavior and was quite happy to do so.

These days Tom spent much of his time in his room, or wandered around town, thinking about the prospect of someone realizing his talents and treating him properly. When September came he would be sent off to secondary school. His previous education consisted of being taught by the women who worked at the orphanage. Tom was a brilliant boy, but the very idea of attending such a normal school bored him. He wanted to explore the world and learn more about his mysterious powers, to train and hone his abilities so he could use them to his full advantage.

"You should at least go and meet the deans of these schools, Tom," Mrs. Cole admonished Tom's nonchalant behavior towards furthering his education. "Don't you want to get out of here? You always wanted to see the world."

"And how," he said looking up from his book, "do you expect me to see the world from inside a bloody classroom, filled with prats like Billy Stubbs?"

Tom's eyes narrowed as he waited for Mrs. Cole to answer. She merely shook her head and picked up a tray laden with a bowl of soup to take up to Eric Whalley, who had the chicken pox.

Suddenly, an owl flew in through the open window in the kitchen. It was a handsome tawny owl that swooped low over the table where Tom sat, and dropped the letter neatly on the tray Mrs. Cole carried. The owl turned in an arc, and flew out of the window, as quickly as it had come.

"What was all that about?" Tom asked as he watched Mrs. Cole as she peered down at the letter on the tray.

"I haven't the slightest," she said as she deposited the tray on the counter and picked up the letter, the soup forgotten. It looked to Tom as if the envelope was made of a thick parchment with a wax seal. As Mrs. Cole flipped the envelope around, Tom was able to catch a glimpse of the spidery flowing handwriting on the front, which said:

Mrs. B. Cole

Grundler's Orphanage for Children

The Kitchen

London

Tom waited expectantly as Mrs. Cole peeled open the purple wax seal on the back, and began to read the contents of the letter. As her eyes moved down the page her expression grew more and more bewildered. Tom watched her and said nothing as Mrs. Cole reread the letter and looked up at him. She looked down at the letter again, then back up at Tom.

"What?" He demanded in a fierce voice.

Mrs. Cole said nothing, and then she shook her head fiercely and threw the letter and the envelope into the fire. Curious, Tom watched it burn, trying to make out what the letter said, as Mrs. Cole tottered out of the kitchen.

He could make none of the writing out as the paper blackened and turned to ash. Tom gathered his book and made his way out of the kitchen, down the hall, across the black and white tiles, up the stone stairs, and into his room. He assumed that Mrs. Cole had recovered because he heard her rush past his door not much later as she took Eric Whalley his lunch.

Tom sat on his bed and ignored the hubbub of the household and immersed himself in his book. After a while he grew bored, and proceeded down the stairs for some lunch. The days passed by in a similar manner, the matter of the letter was not forgotten to Tom, although Mrs. Cole never brought the subject up, and life in Grundler's Orphanage continued.

But then on Saturday, an owl flew past Tom's window. It was a striking ocher owl, just like the one that had appeared a few days ago. Curious, Tom left his room and went down the stairs, toward Mrs. Cole's office. The door had been left slightly ajar, and he listened. The distinct slam of a window followed by a few curses from Mrs. Cole issued from within. He dared not peer through the crack in the door, but could picture in his mind's eye, the spidery handwriting on the front of the letter, and how Mrs. Cole read it with a skeptical look on her face.

Tom heard her snort with laughter and disbelief, and then a crackle as the letter fell into the fire. Soon the smell of burning parchment reached him. He heard her wooden chair scrape against the floor, the sound of a cabinet opening. And the telltale sound as something was being poured into a glass. She sat down, laughed again and muttered,

"If only it were true."

Tom left his spot and moved away from the door, he had barely walked ten steps when a voice said,

"What're you doing there, Riddle?"

Tom spun around to see Billy Stubbs standing before him.

"None of your business," Tom said as he glared at the older boy.

"If you're planning to do something to Mrs. Cole," Billy squared his shoulders trying to look intimidating, "I won't rest until you're a stain on the ground." He clenched his fist around a yo-yo in his hand.

"Will you now," Tom said glaring at Billy. Billy faltered for a minute and took one step back.

"Yes I will. Mrs. Cole's been like a mother to all of us. She took us all in, and cared for us. She even took in a snot-nosed twit like you," he said defiantly, and then to both Tom's and Billy's surprise, he threw the yo-yo at Tom's head. Tom saw it coming and willed it to fall short of him. The yo-yo stopped midair and landed abruptly at his feet.

"You shouldn't have done that Stubbs," Tom said dangerously, "You _really_ shouldn't have don't that."

Billy face drained of all color, he ran away as fast as he could, and disappeared around the corner. Tom picked up the yo-yo and headed back to his room. Shutting the door behind him, Tom smiled. Then he walked to his wardrobe and from the topmost shelf, above the rail where his clothes hung, was the small cardboard box. Tom took the box down, and placed it on his bed. Carefully, he removed the lid and positioned the yo-yo beside a silver thimble, and a tarnished harmonica. He gazed at the contents of the box a little longer, then replaced the lid, and returned the cardboard box to its shelf. The next day, Billy Stubbs fell down the stairs, scraping his knees and elbows badly on the stone floor, and managing to twist his ankle.

Tuesday, one week after the first letter, was as typical a day as the rest of the week had been. It started out normal enough. Tom woke for a breakfast of cold tinned tomatoes on toast and left his dishes on the counter by the sink, knowing that they would be taken care of. He ignored Martha as she flew past him down the steps in her search for Mrs. Cole. Tom opened his bedroom door and sat on his bed, picked up the book he had left facedown on his bed and began to read.

He heard Mrs. Cole rush up the stairs, and yell something he could not quite gather. Then he felt the boards move slightly as another set of feet ran past his door. Settling himself comfortably on top of the gray blankets that covered his bed, Tom leaned against the wall and stretched his legs out in front of him and continued reading.

Tom did not hear the loud rap on the front door, nor did he hear the conversation that took place in the foyer of the orphanage. He registered the fact that someone had called for Mrs. Cole downstairs, and that she hollered something back. The sound of the front door shutting was soft and distant to Tom as he turned the page of his book. Then Mrs. Cole's footsteps passed his door, the floorboards creaking slightly as she went, coupled by the sound of her instructions,

"Lucy clear the tray and bring it down to the kitchen when he's finished eating, and take the iodine upstairs to Martha…" but her voice quickly faded out as she went down the stairs.

The sounds of conversation did not disturb Tom Riddle in the slightest; he continued to peruse the words on the page. He had taken the book from another child at the orphanage, and had no intention of giving it back. Perhaps he would shred it and set it on fire, then throw the pieces onto the dry grass of the front courtyard. Yes, that would be a decent source of excitement for the day, seeing as it was turning out to be such a boring day. Mrs. Cole would undoubtedly try to pin the crime on himself, so he would have to be very fastidious about his plans. It seemed a likely idea he could fool one of the other children to set the fire. Of course he would not let it reach the building, lest the orphanage catch fire while he was still inside. Tom was sure he would be able to contain the fire.

Tom Riddle was fast approaching the end of his novel, and was just pondering where the matches were, when two quick knocks shook his door, and the doorknob began to turn.

A/N: Hi! I hope you're enjoying Tom Marvolo Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort. I just wanted to let you readers know that this story will be covering all of Tom Riddle's school life, as well as his life after Hogwarts, up until he tries (and fails) to kill Harry Potter.

To: grahamcracker-xx,

Thanks so much for your comments! It makes me feel that someone is actually reading what I put up ^__^ I'm planning to update every few days make sure you read! I tried to put a lot of symmetry between this story and the actual Harry Potter books, especially with the line "Tom Riddle-the boy who lived." I'm glad you enjoyed it! I wonder if you can find the other similarities ^__^


	4. Chapter 4: The Only One He Ever Feared

Chapter 4

The Only One He Ever Feared

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton-sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you – well, I'll let him do it." Mrs. Cole brought the strong smell of gin into the room as well as a man with long auburn hair and beard, wearing a flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet.

Mrs. Cole closed the door on them so that Tom Riddle was left alone with this strange man, Dumberton, or Dunderbore, whoever he was.

Tom's eyes narrowed as he watched the elderly man quickly take in the entire room. There was a moment's silence.

"How do you do, Tom?" said the man, walking forward and holding out his hand.

Tom hesitated for a brief moment, and then shook hands with the man. After the handshake was broken, the man drew up the hard wooden chair beside Tom's bed. Tom felt curiously like a patient in a hospital bed. He did not like the feeling.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

That caught Tom's attention, "Professor?" he repeated, looking warily at Dumbledore. Maybe Mrs. Cole wanted to have him talk to this man, to prove something was wrong with him. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did _she _get you in to have a look at me?"

He pointed at the door where Mrs. Cole had just left, already planning to do something horrible to her.

"No, no," said the Professor, smiling.

"I don't believe you," said Tom. "She wants me looked at doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

Tom spoke the last three words with the same tone he used when he wanted someone to do something. He knew that his voice commanded obedience, and he always got it. Tom glared at Dumbledore, who seemed unperturbed by his command and kept smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Tom stopped glaring, he had never met anyone quite like this man ever before. He did not seem afraid of Tom, merely impassive, yet politely so. Tom watched Professor Dumbledore warily, then asked,

"Who are you?"

"I have told you." Tom clenched his teeth, knowing he was being patronized, but listened intently all the same. "My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school-your new school, if you would like to come." Tom leapt from the bed and backed away from the Professor.

He knew it. This man was here to take him away, to imprison him because he was different, because he was special.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course-well, I'm not going, see? That old bat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" Tom's chest was heaving as he tried to back farther into the wall.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you-"

"I'd like to see them try," interjected Tom with a sneer.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, as though Tom had not spoken, "is a school for people with special abilities-"

"I'm not mad!" Tom screamed at the top of his lungs as his suspicions were confirmed.

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

There was silence. Tom froze, his face expressionless, he couldn't believe his ears. His eyes darted between each of Dumbledore's bright blue eyes, trying to detect the trace of a lie, when he found none he whispered,

"Magic?"

"That's right," said Dumbledore calmly.

"It's…it's magic, what I can do?" He muttered more to himself than to Dumbledore. A sensation was filling him, an excitement that he could hardly contain.

"What is it that you can do?" Dumbledore asked his blue eyes seeming to see right through Tom.

"All sorts," breathed Tom. He could feel heat rising into his cheeks. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Tom's legs began to tremble from his excitement. He stumbled forward and sat down on his bed, staring at his hands, his head bowed. He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, could do magic! The very idea seemed preposterous, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

"I knew I was different," he whispered into his hands. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something." Tom felt an ecstatic smile spreading itself across his face.

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was watching Tom intently, but Tom was too absorbed in his own thoughts to care. "You are a wizard."

Tom raised his head. The excitement and joy expressed itself in a smile that covered his face. He was a wizard, a wizard! It was too good to be true. But who was better suited for magic than he? Tom was able to calm himself down, then asked,

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am." Came the response

"Prove it," he demanded at once. Tom wanted to make sure that this wasn't some elaborate scheme concocted by Mrs. Cole.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"

"Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"

Tom was annoyed, but suppressed it for the moment, then asked in his politest voice,

"I'm sorry, sir. I meant-please, Professor, could you show me-?"

For a brief moment Tom thought Dumbledore might refuse, but then he withdrew a long wooden stick, a wand, from an inside pocket of his plum velvet jacket, pointed it at Tom's wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Tom jumped to his feet, and he rounded on Dumbledore, but even as he did so the flames vanished leaving the wardrobe the same as it ever was.

Tom looked back at the wardrobe, and then faced Professor Dumbledore again.

The wand.

He pointed at it,

"Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

Tom paused, and then he heard it. A faint rattling could be heard coming from behind him. Tom's eyes grew wide and stared at Dumbledore.

"Open the door."

Reluctantly Tom crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf was his small cardboard box. And it was shaking and rattling as if something were fighting to be free.

"Take it out," Dumbledore said.

Tom took down the shaking box; unnerved at its' trembling.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Tom looked at Dumbledore, wondering if he should tell the truth. But figuring that Dumbledore would somehow know he was lying, Tom finally said,

"I suppose so, sir."

"Open it."

Removing the lid, Tom dumped the contents of the box onto his bed, trying not to look at them. The thimble, yo-yo, and mouth organ tumbled out, where they finally lay still.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," Dumbledore's voice was calm, as he put his wand back into his jacket pocket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Tom did not doubt that the man before him had the power to know if he returned his trophies. He wondered if all wizards were as accomplished as Dumbledore, for if they were Tom knew he had his work cut out for him.

"Yes, sir." Tom answered, trying to give nothing away.

"At Hogwarts we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have –inadvertently, I am sure –been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic-" Tom's eyes grew wide "Yes, there is a Ministry, will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," Tom said automatically as he began gathering the objects on his bed and deposited them back into the cardboard box. When he was done, he realized something.

"I haven't got any money." Tom said bluntly.

"That is easily remedied," Dumbledore drew a leather money-pouch from a pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but-"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the moneybag from Dumbledore, and withdrew a fat gold coin from within.

"In Diagon Alley," Dumbledore answered. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything-"

Tom started, surprised; he looked up,

"You're coming with me?"

"Certainly, if you-"

"I don't need you. I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley –sir?" Tom tacked on the 'sir' as he caught Dumbledore's eye.

Dumbledore handed Tom an envelope, and informed him where the Leaky Cauldron was and how to access the passage to Diagon Alley. The boy barely listened; an idea was beginning to form in his mind, engulfing him.

"You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you –non-magical people, that is –will not. Ask for Tom the barman –easy enough to remember, as he shares your name-" Dumbledore paused, for Tom had involuntarily twitched at the notion that a barman could possibly share his name.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," he muttered. Then he could not suppress the idea that had emerged before him,

"Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me." He waited impatiently for Dumbledore to answer.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Dumbledore said gently.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died." Tom was thinking out loud, muttering to himself, "It must've been him." He looked up at Professor Dumbledore, "So –when I've got all my stuff –when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope. You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Tom nodded, and Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand in farewell. Taking his hand, Tom knew it was time to reveal his most impressive power, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips –they find me, they whisper to me." He looked up at Dumbledore, "Is that normal for a wizard?"

After a pause, Dumbledore answered casually as he looked over Tom's face, "It is unusual, but not unheard of." Dumbledore continued to stare at Tom, so he stared back. Then Dumbledore dropped the handshake, and was at the door.

"Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."


	5. Chapter 5: Diagon Alley

Chapter 5

Diagon Alley

Tom woke early the next morning, he sprang out of bed and checked to make sure that the bag of gold, and the envelope with its letter was still where he had left it. The small moneybag and the letter were still on his windowsill, exactly where he had left it the night before. He sighed and pulled out the two sheaves of parchment and read them over for the thousandth time. It still said:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Armando Dippett

(Order of Merlin, Second Class)

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment, and a set of instructions on how to enter Diagon Alley, start a bank account at Gringotts Wizarding Bank, locations of shops, and a chart of currency conversions from Muggle money to Galleons. A second envelope contains your train ticket, and instructions on how to arrive on Platform 9 ¾.

Term begins on September 1.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Percival Wolfred Brian Dumbledore,

_Deputy Headmaster_

Tom flipped to the next page which read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of _WITCHCRAFT _and _WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_

By Miranda Goshawk

_A History of Magic _by Bathilda Bagshot

The Theory of Magic by Walter Adaling

_A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _by Emeric Switch

_800 Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllida Spore

_Potions and Poisons _by Cyan Ide

_Mystic Monsters _by Kim Era

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Tom removed the page from the top of the pile and read the page underneath:

DIAGON ALLEY

The entrance to Diagon Alley, where you can successfully purchase all of your school supplies is located behind the pub called The Leaky Cauldron. If you proceed through the bar there is a small, walled courtyard, where you will see a trash can. You will need a wand to access the entrance to Diagon Alley, Tom, the bartender will be happy to oblige. He can be found behind the bar, as he is the barkeeper.

GRINGOTTS WIZARDING BANK

Upon entering Diagon Alley you will notice a large white building. Please do not be alarmed at the presence of goblins, as they run Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Head toward the counter and tell the goblin that you wish to open a safe at Gringotts. He will then make the necessary arrangements. You will need to pay a fee in order to open your own safe at Gringotts.

LOCATIONS OF SHOPS

A map has been printed on the back of this page, please feel free to peruse it at your leisure.

MONEY

Wizard money is substantially different from Muggle currency. The large gold coins are Galleons, and are have the highest value among the three types of are silver, seventeen sickles to a Galleon. Twenty-nine Knuts (the small bronze coin) per Sickle.

IF YOU HAVE ANY OTHER QUESTION, PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO SEND AN OWL ADDRESSED TO:

A. DUMBLEDORE

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

A small envelope was behind this last page, and Tom eagerly opened it once more. Inside was a purple train ticket, emblazoned with the words:

Hogwarts Express

Platform 9 ¾

Kings Cross Station

Tom Riddle looked over the three pages yet again, and flipped the last page over to inspect the map that had been provided. Finally he folded the parchment carefully and placed them back into the envelope. Then he got up and changed his clothes, he pulled the cardboard box from the shelf and looked at it.

Grabbing what money –Muggle money– he had, Tom stuffed it into his pockets. He grabbed his pack, into which he placed the envelope and the bag of gold. Tom lifted the box from his bed and opened and shut the door to his room quietly. Stealing down the stairs, he snuck into the kitchen. It was still much too early in the morning for Mrs. Cole to be up and about making breakfast, which was all well for Tom.

Quickly filling his pack with some food, and swallowing down some toast for breakfast, Tom left through the iron gates before the sunlight had begun to creep up the stairs to the orphanage.

Tom had been to London many times before. He had traversed the streets often enough and had been near the location of The Leaky Cauldron, although he had never been on the exact street. He passed bookshops, cafés, restaurants, and clubs. Could there really be wizards, right under his nose? Tom cast glances all around him, but it was still too early for most people to be up and about for shopping.

His feet came to an abrupt stop as Tom saw tiny grubby-looking pub. Its sign squeaked in the light wind that had picked up, but no one else seemed to notice it. For a famous wizarding bar, it was dark and shabby. Tom was disappointed, surely if this were a place for wizards to gather it would be much more outstanding and much cleaner. But nevertheless he entered.

A few old women were sitting in the corner nearest the door, drinking tiny glasses of amber liquid. Someone was talking to the bartender, who was balding and was missing quite a few teeth. Tom did little to hide his disgust as he approached the bar, careful not to touch the countertop.

"Are you Tom?" he asked as the man behind the counter. The man was hunched over, and at the mention of his name he gave the boy a wide grin that was missing most of his teeth.

"Yes, I am. What do you need?"

Tom Riddle held his breath as the stench of alcohol wafted over him. "I need to get into Diagon Alley." He said shortly.

The wizened old man gave him another grin. Tom could have sworn that there were more teeth missing in this smile, than there were in the last.

"Right this way." The barman said sidling out from behind the countertop. Tom Riddle followed the hunchbacked man through the pub, when a sickening thought hit him.

"Excuse me," he said to the man in front of him who turned around, "you wouldn't happen to be Tom Riddle? Would you?" Tom crossed his fingers praying that he wasn't.

"No, I'm not lad." Was the bartender's simple answer, and he withdrew his wand as they entered a small walled courtyard.

Tom was so relieved that he did not even register the fact that the other Tom had tapped a brick three up and two across from above the trash can.

"There you are." He wheezed, as the brick began quivering. Then it began to wriggle, and a small hole appeared in the middle of the brick. Tom Riddle watched in awe as the hole grew wider and wider. All of a sudden he was facing a large archway that led onto a cobbled street that meandered out of sight.

Shops lined this twisting and turning street, each boasting bright signs that flashed different colors. Tom Riddle was staring slack-jawed at the street before him, and he stepped through the archway. He didn't even realize that the archway shrunk instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons in the window of a nearby shop. Tom turned his head in every direction as he walked up the street, noting that he did not need the map that he had been given.

There was Eeylops Owl Emporium, the Apothecary, and the Quidditch Specialty Store (whatever Quidditch was). There were shops selling robes, telescopes, and spindly silver instruments that Tom was keen on learning the use of. Windows were boasting their wares, piles of spell books that looked as if they should have fallen over, quills, parchment, potion bottles, model scales of the solar system including the moons of all the planets.

Tom knew that if he kept walking along this path he would soon come across Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and sure enough he reached a snowy white building that loomed over the other shops. Standing beside the well-polished bronze doors, was a goblin. The goblin had a clever face, extremely long fingers and feet, and was more than a head shorter than Tom. Now, Tom had no inclination to open an account at Gringotts, as he had little money as it was. But he made his way toward the door.

The goblin opened the doors for him, and bowed respectfully. As they should, Tom Riddle reasoned. He was a wizard after all.

Now he faced a second set of doors, but that of silver, with words engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Images of dragons and magical enchantments filled Tom Riddles head as he was bowed through the doors by two goblins.

After he had exchanged the Muggle money that he had for Sickles and Knuts, Tom set off in search of the one item he wanted most of all. A wand.

He stopped in front of Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A wand lay on a dusty red velvet cushion in the window, and Tom looked at it with longing. As he pushed open the door a bell tinkled somewhere in the depths of the shop. It was exceedingly disappointing, Tom couldn't help but wonder why such a powerful magical item such as a wand couldn't at least be used to magically clean the dust off the numerous thin boxes that were piled neatly to the ceiling. Nevertheless Tom was excited at the prospect of owning a wand. He eyed a box that was at his eyelevel and was about to reach for it when he heard a voice.

"Good morning."  
Tom didn't flinch, but turned toward the source of the voice.

"You must be starting at Hogwarts, am I correct?" The man, presumably Ollivander, said as he approached, his silvery eyes almost glowing in the dim shop.

"Yes." Tom responded.

"Let's see now. Which is your wand arm?"  
"My right," Tom answered quickly. Ollivander scurried to Tom's right side and began measuring the boy's arm.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Riddle. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand, unless of course you win ownership of said wand, but that's getting a little too complicated. Ah, yes." He said as he pulled a box carefully from the pile, he placed the wand in Tom's hand. Tom realized the measuring tape was measuring around his head, and he waved it way.

"Nine inches, beech wood, dragon heartstring. Give it a wave."

Tom didn't need telling twice, he raised the wand, but Ollivander snatched it away,

"No, no that one wont do –here, try this one, unicorn hair and ebony, eight and a half inches, nice and springy. Go on try it out."

Tom snatched it up, but just as quickly Ollivander yet again took it from his grasp.

Hours had passed since he had entered the shop, and Tom was beginning to get annoyed with the old man who only let him wave a wand every five he was given. He didn't know what exactly the old coot was waiting for, but was determined to leave here with a wand.

"Here we are. Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew, phoenix tail feather. Give it a try." Tom grabbed the wand and he felt a sudden warmth flow through his entire arm. He raised the wand above his head and brought it swishing down. A jet of silver light shot from the wand, illuminating the dark shop, the light began to almost evaporate into smoke that curled and twisted in the air before it vanished.

Ollivander clapped, a wide grin covering his face.

"My, my I haven't seen something like that in ages." He beamed down at Tom as he began packing the wand inside a box.

"I wont need that," Tom said harshly, as he took the wand from Ollivander, and placed it in an inside pocket of his coat.

"That will be seven Galleons."

Tom left Diagon Alley with bags full of second-hand books, robes, cauldron, quills, and trunk. He had very little money remaining, but Tom Riddle was the happiest he had ever been.

As soon as he arrived back to his small room at Grundler's Orphanage he deposited his trunk full of his newly purchased items, and pulled out his wand from his inside pocket, where he had carried it all day. Tom marveled at the magical item, he quickly flipped through the pages of The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1, and immediately began practicing levitation. He had some difficulty at first, but in mere minutes, Tom was levitating everything in his room: his trunk, his bed, even his wardrobe. He had even progressed to using an illumination spell, which caused his wand tip to glow with a steady light. Tom was reading was perusing the spell book, eager for more spells.

"Tom, are you in there?" Came a voice at his door, as well as a few sharp knocks. Carefully hiding his wand in his inside pocket, Tom opened the door.

A very angry Mrs. Cole stood in the doorway.

"WHERE ON EARTH WERE YOU TOM RIDDLE?" she hollered, "WE'VE BEEN SCOURING THE CITY IN SEARCH OF YOU? EVERYONE IS OUT LOOKING FOR YOU! I EVEN CALLED THE POLICE! AND HERE YOU ARE IN YOUR ROOM AS IF NOTHING EVER HAPPENED! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?"

Mrs. Cole fumed as she hovered over Tom.

"That," he said coolly sliding a hand into his coat, "is none of your business, Muggle." With a flick of his wrist he shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa," and Mrs. Cole flew into the air, with another casual wave of his wand he sent her flying down the hallway towards the stone stairs.

Tom Riddle raised his wand, and Mrs. Cole rolled down the stairs. Finally she came to a stop in the foyer. Tom looked over the railing of the stairs towards Mrs. Cole. She was unconscious, and one of her arms was bent at an extremely odd angle.

A crimson pool of blood was beginning to form on the black and white tiles.

A/N: Thanks again to all of you who read this fanfic

To: 9

Thanks for your commet! It took a lot of work to get the last chapter like the book. I had to sit there with three HP books and my laptop. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.


	6. Chapter 6: Welcome to Hogwarts

Chapter 6

Welcome To Hogwarts

Tom's last month at Grundler's Orphanage was fun. At least it was for him. True, the children were so happy that Tom was leaving they wouldn't stay still. The matrons of Grundler's did not force him to do anything, or care for the younger children –in fact; they didn't speak to him at all. They were terrified about what had happened to Mrs. Cole. She was fine, but was currently in the hospital with a broken arm and a slight concussion. Mrs. Cole had forgotten the events of the entire day, she would recover one week after Tom's departure.

Tom kept to his room, with his second hand books for company. He had read all of his books, and was particularly interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts, or more specifically the Dark Arts. It seemed to Tom Riddle, that the Dark Arts were highly misunderstood and under appreciated. There was so many unexplored possibilities that he vowed to one day uncover.

Every night before he went to sleep, Tom ticked off another day on a page from a calendar he had torn out and pinned to the wall.

On the last day of August Tom was packed, ready, and waiting for the next day. He reread, over and over again, the instructions on how to get onto Platform 9 ¾. It didn't seem all that difficult, and Tom wondered how a Muggle had never accidentally stumbled onto the platform.

Tom woke at five o'clock the next morning, with a book on his face. He was too excited to go back to sleep. He got up, and changed into his Muggle clothes –he didn't want anyone from the orphanage to understand why he could do such wondrous things. Tom had received an owl about a week ago telling him that once September 1 arrived he was banned from doing any form of magic outside of school. His previous use of magic had been reprimanded the first week after he had flung Mrs. Cole down the stairs. Apparently he was banned from doing magic outside of school, and it was possible to be expelled for doing so. He had replied, using the owl that had delivered the letter, expression his utmost apologies, it had read:

Dear Ms. Hopkirk,

Let me begin with expressing my dearest apologies about my unauthorized use of magic in the past week. I have been raised in a Muggle orphanage, and I did not realize the implications of my actions. Had I known that performing magic outside of school was prohibited, I would have not used it at all. But as I had no previous knowledge of the consequences or of magic, I was most inclined to read my textbooks, and begin performing magic. I had taken the utmost care to ensure that none of the other residence of Grundler's Orphanage for Children had opportunity to see me performing magic. It is with greatest regret that I apologize, and I hope that I will never be a bother to the Ministry of Magic again. Thank you for your leniency with this matter.

Sincerely,

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom had meant none of this, of course, but it could hardly hurt to flatter anyone who worked at the Ministry of Magic. And what's more in the event of another magical 'accident' they would know he was a responsible, but eager boy, who wished to learn more about their world. Who could possibly expel a student like that, especially when he arrived at school, and became the best student of the year?

The entire morning was spent reading and rereading all of his books. Tom was excited that he understood the theory behind the magic, and was proud that he could perform spells in the time limit of one week. He couldn't even begin to imagine the types of things he would learn at Hogwarts. If he could learn this much in such a short time, why the possibilities were endless.

When it was finally time to leave, Martha hurried Tom onto a coach. He was sent alone to King's Cross Station. He arrived at King's Cross at ten o'clock. He paid the driver in Muggle money that Martha had given him, deposited his trunk onto a cart, and wheeled it into the station. Tom stood facing the divider between Platform Nine and Ten. He already knew what to do.

Bracing himself, Tom walked casually towards the divider. It looked extremely solid, but Tom continued. As he approached he half-expected to crash, but even as he began to think this he was standing before a scarlet steam engine.

The sign that hung above his head said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock, and he watched in excitement as people jostled about the platform trying to get their children on board. Tom swung around and looked behind him, there was a wrought iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it.

He was there.

Or at least almost there. Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the crowd. Toads of every color croaked from carry-on baskets. Owls hooted from their cages as they were being loaded onto the train. Even though he had planned to be an hour early, some of the compartments were already full. Students hung out of the windows of their compartments to talk to their families. Tom pushed his cart down the platform in search of an empty compartment.

Tom finally found an empty compartment, and heaved his trunk through the train door. It was light enough for him to carry, because he only had the minimum required items. He tucked his trunk into the corner of the compartment and proceeded to change into his robes. Tom had found a surprisingly good set of black robes at a second hand shop, it was slightly faded, but it fit him well. The dark fabric offset his pale skin well.

After he had changed, Tom settled himself by the seat closest to the door, to discourage anyone from joining him. Then after several minutes, he changed his mind and sat by the window.

Tom could see the families of the other students all crowded on the platform. Some were wearing ridiculous outfits of swim trunks and ponchos, or overcoats with flowery bonnets atop their heads. The parents who were dressed normally were giving these oddly dressed families furtive looks.

Muggles.

There were non-magical people attending Hogwarts! Tom considered this for a moment. It was unreasonable! People of non-magical birth had gained the same powers that he himself had? How absurd.

Yet, sure enough, when Tom peered from the window yet again, he could have sworn that some of the students who were piling onto the train were indeed Muggles.

Muggles! Coming to _his _school. He couldn't understand it. How had these _people _gained their magic?

Tom decided right then to research his parentage as soon as he set foot into the school. He must find the man he was named after. Tom Riddle.

A clatter interrupted his thoughts, and Tom turned to face the source of the noise. The door had swung open, and a boy with white blonde hair, and a pale face was standing in the doorway to the compartment.

Without a word he placed his trunk on the shelf overhead, and with a sweep of his long black robes, he settled himself down directly across from Tom. Once seated, the boy looked directly at Tom, and said quite politely,

"Good Morning. I'm Nisin, Liam Nisin." He held out his had, which Tom shook. This boy, Liam Nisin, seemed to be Tom's age. But Nisin's school robes were brand new and so black that it looked like a shadow had engulfed the boy's body. Tom's robes, being second hand were more of a dark gray than black.

"Good Morning, the name's Tom, Tom Riddle." Tom eagerly waited for some sort of reaction from this boy, at the mention of his father's name, but none came.

"Are you a Muggle-born?" Nisin looked down at Tom's shabby robes.

"No," Tom's answer was immediate. "No, I'm not."  
"Ah, I thought not." Nisin settled himself more comfortably in his seat. "I would have switched compartments if you were though. It's horrible how the school lets in Mudbloods. Disgusting."

"Mudblood?" Tom asked, before he could stop himself.

Nisin looked at Tom, skeptically. "I thought you said you weren't a Muggle-born. You should know what Mudblood means, if you're from any decent wizarding family."

"I was raised in a Muggle orphanage. My parents are dead."

"My condolences." Nisin raised a hand, "We're both your parents wizards?"  
"Yes." Tom said without hesitation. "What about you?"

"I'm a wizard through and through." Nisin leaned his head against his hand. "I'm the tenth generation to go to Hogwarts." He chuckled, "Mother will kill me if I'm not in Slytherin."  
"Slytherin?"

"Ah, that's right. You were raised by Muggles." Nisin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "There are four houses at Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Any decent student from a wizarding family gets into Slytherin." He leaned back into his chair, "The rest of the houses are filled with simpering prats, who are all for allowing Mudbloods into the school. Especially Gryffindors." Nisin spat the last word out with vehemence.

"Next thing you know they'll be asking to let in goblins or house elves." Tom muttered with disdain.

To his surprise Nisin laughed. "Ah, that's a good one," he said through his laughter, "Let in house elves. Seems like you do know something about our world."

The door rattled again, and both boys turned toward the door. Another boy stood in the doorway, his trunk in hand. He deposited his trunk and glared down at the other two.

"You two Muggles?" he asked harshly as he glowered at them.

"No." Tom answered simply. "You?"

"Bloody hell, no I'm not!"

"Tom Riddle," Tom said holding out his hand, which the boy took.

"Morag Lestrange," came the reply. Lestrange had a sallow face, with heavy lidded eyes. Lestrange's robes, like Nisin's, seemed to be brand new, and they billowed about him impressively.

The compartment door burst open yet again. And a boy with long black hair that fell casually about his harsh face entered the compartment brandishing his wand before him.

"I refuse to sit with blood traitor filth," he spat as he pointed his wand in each of their faces. "Identify yourself."

"Relax." Tom stood and walked toward the boy, whose wand was pointed directly at Tom's chest. The boy just stared at Tom, who continued to speak, "We are no blood traitors. Each of us is of pure blood." Tom pushed the boy's wand aside. And as he did so the boy snapped to attention, as if he had been in a trance.

"Now tell us, who are you?" Tom asked as he settled himself back into his seat.

"Black, Arcturus Black."

"Well now, Black. Have a seat." Tom gestured to the empty seat, and Black sat down immediately.

"I must say," Liam said turning toward Tom, "You do seem to have a way with people."

"Not at all, not at all." Tom smiled.

After an hour or two, Tom learned what Quidditch was, that each of the other boys was just starting at Hogwarts, their family history, the names of other pure blood families, and that the surname Riddle did not ring any bells. The other boys got on well enough with Tom, and soon enough Tom had learned the names of the teachers.

"My father was in the Slug Club." Boasted Lestrange, "He said that anyone, who's anyone gets in."

"Ah, I've heard of the club from my cousin." Black added, "turns out Slughorn's got an eye for those he thinks have got talent." He popped a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean into his mouth, and then continued, "Strangely enough, he seems to be pretty good about finding them."

A voice echoed throughout the train. "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

The boys scrambled to their feet and looked out the window. It was pitch black outside. They couldn't see anything besides their excited faces reflected in the glass.

The train slowed down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out onto a tiny platform. The air was cold and brisk, but Tom hardly noticed.

A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a voice called out.

"First years! First years over here!"

As the four boys approached the voice, a callous lined face appeared under the lamplight. The man's face looked weather beaten, and harsh as he stared down at the boys.

"You lot first years?"

"Yes, we are." Tom answered as the other boys stood behind him.

"Alright." The man said to him then called out, "Any more first years?" A group began amassing itself around him.

"Follow me, this way." The man turned on his heel and walked down a steep narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Tom figured there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke.

"You'll be able to see the castle in a second," the man with the lamp called over his shoulder. "It's just around the bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The path opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more than four to a boat!" Their escort hollered, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water. The four boys clambered into the boat, and after a few minutes the man hollered,

"Everyone in? Right then –Forward!"

The little fleet of boats moved as one, they glided across the lake, whose smooth black surface was distorted by the progression of the boats. Soon they had reached an underground harbor of sorts. The first years climbed out of their boats and followed the bobbing lantern up a flight of stone stairs. Their escort promptly knocked on the door, and it opened.

A smiling face with auburn hair and beard appeared, and Professor Dumbledore stepped into the light.

"The first years, Professor Dumbledore."

"Thank you, Og. I will take them from here."

The man, Og, backed away, and the first years followed Professor Dumbledore across the flagged stone floor. Once they were all crowded into a room, Dumbledore stopped and turned to address them.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor Dumbledore, his bright blue eyes casting around the students, finally resting on Tom for a brief second before addressing the group as a whole once more.

"The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. Your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. Classes will be held with the rest of your house, you will sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in the house common room.

"While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while rule breaking will lose house points. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school." Dumbledore clapped his hands, beaming at the students, "Are you ready? Then please, follow me." He turned and with a sweep of his blue cloak he passed through a door.

Tom was the first to leave the room, followed by Nisin, Lestrange, and Black, then the rest of the first years trailed after them. The first years crowded into a vast hall, lined with four tables. The ceiling above them revealed the night sky, littered with stars.

"Blimey," muttered Nisin as he looked up.

Tom wasn't paying attention to Nisin, or the ceiling above them. His gaze was trained on Professor Dumbledore, who was placing a four-legged stool in front of them. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Was nothing in the magically world taken care of? Tom wondered. But then a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth –and the hat began to sing:

"_Welcome back to those that sit here_

_At the tables in this hall_

_And welcome to you first years._

_Welcome one and all._

_These tables hold a history_

_That comes from ancient lore._

_The rules of which I shall explain_

_Will divide you into four._

_Come place me on your head,_

_I shall whisper in your ear. _

_I'll take a peek inside your mind,_

_There is no need to fear._

_For some it shall be Slytherin._

_Who seek power for their means._

_Or if you ought to be in Gryffindor_

_From fear they never flee_

_Perhaps you belong in Ravenclaw_

_With cleverness and wit_

_Or possibly in Hufflepuff_

_They work hard and don't complain a bit_

_These are the four houses_

_That's all of them, that's it._

_So try me on I'll take a look_

_And see where you'll reside_

_Don't worry yourself, for wherever you are_

_You can stand tall and take pride._

_Power, or endurance,_

_Courage, or strength of mind._

_Within the walls of Hogwarts_

_Without a doubt you will surely find_

_Students of great caliber_

_Till the end of time."_

The hall burst into applause, and Professor Dumbledore unfurled a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, please put the hat on, sit on the stool, and you shall be sorted." He paused smiling to himself, and then he began to read.

"Abbott, Hailey!"

A girl with blonde hair stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right over her eyes, and sat down.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The hat shouted, a table on the right cheered as the girl made her way to the table.

"Black, Arcturus!" Black left Tom's side and walked up to the Sorting Hat. Dumbledore placed it on his head; there was a moment's silence then the hat shouted.

"SLYTHERIN!"

A table on the far left burst out into cheers. Black pulled the hat off his head, looking extremely proud. He casually

"Bones, Amelia!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terrance!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

On, and on it went. The line was beginning to disappear.

"Lestrange, Morag!"  
"SLYTHERIN!"

Tom was beginning to get impatient. He knew exactly which house he was suited for. The silver snake on the green flag was practically screaming his name.

"Nisin, Liam!"

"I expect to see you shortly, Riddle." Nisin muttered as he left the line.

He sat on the stool for a long moment before the hat called out,

"SLYTHERIN!"

Nisin joined Lestrange, and Black at the Slytherin table. As Tom watched, they all turned to face him and nodded.

Finally, finally Dumbledore called out,

"Riddle, Tom!"  
Tom braced himself and stepped toward the Sorting Hat. He sat on the stool, and before Professor Dumbledore could even move to place the hat on Tom's head, it shouted,

"SLYTHERIN!"

There was a collective gasp that mingled with the applause, as Tom walked to the cheered and shouting table.

"That was amazing!" A voice called out, as Nisin stood to make room for Tom.  
"It didn't even touch you!" Lestrange said in awe.  
"You must be some wizard." Nisin commented as he sat back down, watching Tom. Black was cheering the loudest, he laughed,

"Maybe you're even Slytherin's heir!"

Tom said nothing to this, but amidst the chaos of Slytherins patting him on the back and congratulating him on joining their house, no one noticed the smug smirk creeping along Tom's handsome face.


	7. Chapter 7: Year 1

Chapter 7

Year 1: Tom Riddle and The Mysterious Riddle

It was Tom's first day at Hogwarts. He left the Slytherin common room, Black, Nisin, and Lestrange in tow. They had a warm, sumptuous breakfast of scones, tea, and Belgium waffles; after which they headed down to the dungeons for their first ever potion lesson.

The rest of Slytherin house stood before the doors to the potions class, and they parted as Tom and his entourage made their way to the door. Their very aura seemed to cause fear and awe.

"Good morning," Tom said to a Slytherin boy who stood rather near him.

"G-good morning." The boy stuttered, "I'm-"

But before he could say anything more the door opened and an enormous stomach blocked the entrance to the classroom.

"Good morning class," the man said. He was an enormously fat, bald, old man. "I am Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin house. Please do come in." Professor Slughorn stepped aside and the class filed in.

Tom chose a table at the front.

"He's a fat tub of lard, isn't he?" Black chuckled as he sat down next to Tom, who said nothing.

"Regardless, he is the head of our house." Nisin hissed back as he sat on Tom's other side.

"Disgrace to the name of Slytherin, if that's what you mean." Lestrange muttered as Professor Slughorn passed their table.

"Now then, now then, now then," Slughorn said clapping his hands together, "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your textbooks."

There was a general clatter and rustling as everyone got their supplies out.

"Today, we will begin with a simple draft to cure boils. But," Slughorn wagged a finger at them, "if you all brew excellent potions, your house will get twenty points." He grinned at them, "This is a wonderful opportunity to gain points for our house. So turn to page 4 of _Potions and Poisons _and we shall begin."

It seemed that the prize was not as alluring as Slughorn thought, because the class began to continue at a leisurely pace.

Slughorn watched the classes begin their individual work. He tottered around the class in his acid green robes, looking strangely like walking green jello. The students began weighing dried nettles and crushing snake fangs.

"No, no Stebbins. To properly crush snake fangs, begin at the tip of the fang. So you wont have problems." Slughorn wagged a finger at a student who was cautiously holding the tip of the fang as he brought his pestle down.

"My, my, what do we have here?" Slughorn stopped in front of Tom's cauldron. Tom looked up at his teacher expectantly. His cauldron was filled with a potion, whose acid green color rivaled that of Slughorn's cloak. The surface of the potion was completely smooth, as if it was made of glass.

"Excellent work, my boy! You added the porcupine quills at exactly the right moment! And how did you get such a wonderful consistency!" Slughorn said in surprise, as he dipped his finger into the potion and withdrew it, leaving a long stringy glob suspended from his finger.

"I stewed the horned slugs for an extra minute," Tom said humbly.

"My word! This is the best Boil-be-gone cure I've seen in a long time! Twenty points to Slytherin!" The class cheered and whistled.

"What is your name, my boy?"

"Tom, Tom Riddle."

"Hm, Riddle. Can't say that I've heard the name, but you must come from excellent wizarding stock!"

Tom's face didn't show it, but he was becoming annoyed. How was it that no one had ever heard the name Riddle before?

At five to three, the first year Slytherins were done with classes for the day. Most of them were currently retiring in the Slytherin common room, trying to avoid the massive pileup of homework that awaited them.

But not Tom.

He was in the Trophy Room, having heard some of the older students discussing it during lunch. Tom scoured the room from top to bottom, checking each trophy, every shield, and every last medal.

"What're you doing Tom?"

Tom looked up from the cabinet that he was examining, the surname Riddle was nowhere to be found.

"Nothing, Nisin." Tom said casually, "Just acquainting myself with some Hogwarts History."

Nisin walked over to the cabinet where Tom stood and peered through the glass.

"I know you were looking for your father." He said casting a quick glance up at Tom. "But he's not here. I thought you might be interested so I pulled some of the old school records off the shelf in the library."

Nisin faced Tom, "We could go now if you like. The librarian, Madam Pince, she's a friend of a second cousin who's indebted to our family. She said she would keep the library open a bit later," Nisin grinned, "for some students, who are eager to learn."

Tom cast an appraising look at Nisin, "You have done well, Nisin, very well."

"It was of no trouble at all. I shall have Lestrange and Black assist you?"

"No," Tom replied coolly, "This is should not take long. You may go."

Nisin nodded, and headed down the hall back toward the dungeons. Tom watched as Nisin turned the corner, before he headed in the opposite direction. His pace was just picking up when he rounded a corner and crashed into something bright green, and rather squishy.

"Ah, Riddle my boy!" It was Professor Slughorn.

"Professor Slughorn."

"I've been meaning to have a little chat with you. I've talked to some of your other teachers and they're just delighted with the work you do." Slughorn said proudly, as if Tom was his own son.

"Thank you, Professor." Tom was beginning to wonder if any of this had a point, he had important business to attend to.

"I was wondering if you would like to join a little club of mine?" Slughorn placed an arm around Tom's shoulders and began walking in the opposite direction of the library.

"A club, sir?" Tom asked eagerly, disguising his disgust.

"Yes, The Slug Club. It is for students of great caliber, such as you. I must say," Slughorn beamed down at Riddle, "that I have a knack for acquiring students with talent. I know quite a few influential people, if I do say so myself. But listen to me prattle on about the good old days."

He turned to face Tom, "What do you say m'boy?"

Tom smiled pleasantly up at his head of house. "Why sir, is it even a question? I would be delighted, no ecstatic to be selected by such an accomplished wizard, such as yourself."

"Splendid, splendid." Slughorn clapped his hands. "I shall inform you of our first little meeting!" And with that he spun on his heels and headed down the hall.

Tom cursed under his breath. That inane little man, prattling on about his ridiculous treasured students, but at the very least, he, Tom Riddle, was considered one as well. Perhaps, this would turn out for the better.

If Slughorn actually knew influential people, perhaps even those at the Ministry of Magic, it would become useful.

After this short consideration, Tom turned quickly, his black cloak billowing behind him. And he headed back towards the library.

He arrived at the library, and a very sharp, angry young woman, who had to be Madam Pince, stood waiting for him.

"You must be Riddle." Her voice was dry, as if someone was rubbing two pieces of parchment together.

"Yes, I am. I must thank you for your kindness in allowing me to study so late." Tom smiled at her, "I cannot wait to discover the contents of these books."

She glared down at him, suspiciously, but he continued.

"Please be assured," Tom said sweetly, "I will take the utmost care of these books."

"Be sure that you do boy." Madam Pince pointed a finger into his chest, "But you seem like a quiet respectable boy. If anything happens to those books, anything at all, and you'll be banned from here for the rest of your years!" She squawked.

Tom was taken aback, but smiled all the same.

"Of course, Madam Pince."

She led him to a table in the back, where leather-bound books were sitting in towering mounds covered the entire surface.

"If you need anything," she said, "don't hesitate to ask. I don't like that Nisin boy that asked me to do this. Nasty little vermin, but you seem like you would appreciate these books." And with that she headed back through the rows of bookshelves.

Tom sighed, and sat down. Taking the topmost book from a nearby pile, he began reading.

It was currently mid-April. Slughorn had called on Tom many times, and each time, Tom was able to use his cleverness and charm to have all the other members of the Slug Club in awe. He had already gained the respect that he felt he rightfully deserved, from his teachers, who praised him continuously for his magical skill.

All save for Dumbledore.

Tom knew that Dumbledore had seen his true self, and he knew that any attempts to sway the deputy headmaster would end in disaster. But he did not let it bother him, and soon Tom had amassed ten to fifteen other students who did what he asked of them.

Each member of Tom's group was almost as respected as Tom Riddle himself.

Almost.

And each day he gained even more 'friends'. His network was becoming so large, that his name was known well throughout the school.

Tom Riddle, the quiet, kind, talented boy. How unfortunate he was for being brought up in a Muggle orphanage, with no parents to care for the brilliant child.

While most of the school respected and revered Tom, there were those who felt that, brilliant as he was, Tom was somewhat odd.

"I don't get how someone as sweet as Riddle, could be mixed up with pureblood maniacs like Black and Lestrange."

"He doesn't seem to like Muggle-borns so much."  
"But who doesn't."

"Nah, he seems kind of…vehement about it all."

And so the rumors flew, but no one could say anything bad about Tom. His followers? Yes. But not Tom Riddle.

During the winter holiday, the entire Slytherin house stayed to celebrate Tom's birthday. It was the first time anybody had ever celebrated the day Tom was born. That New Year's Eve was an exciting day for Slytherin house. All except for the birthday boy.

Yes, he put on a surprised face. Yes, he stayed through the party. Yes, he opened presents and beamed at them all.

No, he did not enjoy it. Not one bit.

Tom was becoming anxious. He had so far found no record of a Tom Riddle in the library. No mention of a surname Riddle in any old wizarding families. Perhaps he had been mistaken. Perhaps his mother was a witch. But that was absurd. If she had been, then she wouldn't have died. That's right. The idea was preposterous. Someone with magic, who could do anything even stop death, could lose to it.

But as time wore on, Tom Riddle was becoming agitated. He maintained his façade in front of the school, but behind the piles of books in the library he raged.

"Any luck so far?" came a voice from over the piles of books that stood ominously before Tom. He stood up and saw to the tops of Black's, Nisin's, and Lestrange's heads over the stacks of records.

"No." Tom answered bluntly as he sat down again.

"You should take a break." Black said, flopping down in a nearby chair.

"What exactly are you looking for anyway?" Lestrange asked as he picked up one of the leather bound books.

"Don't touch that." Tom commanded, his voice cutting through the library's silence like steel.

Lestrange promptly dropped the book.

Tom rubbed his temples as the three boys watched him. Then he sighed.

"Have you ever heard of the name Marvolo?"

"No," Black answered promptly.

"Can't say that I have."

Lestrange and Black turned to face Nisin who was staring at the ceiling thinking. "It sounds…familiar."

"Well think harder." Tom sneered as he collected his bag and shoved past them, "I'll be in the common room, studying for the end of term exams."

And he left the three boys in his wake.

Could it be? Could it possibly be? His mother was a witch? Tom distractedly held a book in his lap, pretending to read. He had no need to study; Tom already knew all there was to know in these books.

Snapping the book shut, he got up from the black dragon leather armchair, and retired to his room. Tomorrow was exam-day; he might as well get some sleep.

Exams came and went, just as quickly as Tom's first year at Hogwarts. He, and the rest of the school knew that Tom Riddle had been first in every subject.

With testing completed and the rest of Slytherin house rejoicing in end of the year ecstasy. Tom retired to the library once more. He would be leaving Hogwarts tomorrow morning. This was his last chance for an entire summer to find some shred of evidence of his father. Tom reached for a book he had flipped through only twice, and began searching its pages yet again.

It was already an hour past closing, and Madam Pince was filing books nearby. She always stayed late to make sure that Tom didn't dare harm her precious books. But today, Tom was ready to retire.

He collected his things, thanked Madam Pince, and departed from the library. Tom slowly walked the halls of Hogwarts, back to the dungeon common room. It would be several months before he was allowed to return here. He was already beginning to lament the loss of Hogwarts. As far as Tom was concerned, Hogwarts was more a home to him than Grundler's had ever been.

Tom's short year here, had been the best of his life. He had felt like he had belonged. Tom was respected here, admired even, yet he had to return to the miserable little orphanage where no one knew he was special.

A wry smile flickered across Tom's face, when he realized he could be his usual cruel self once he returned to Grundler's Orphanage. He climbed into his four-poster bed, with its emerald curtains drawn shut. And Tom Riddle slept.

It was breakfast time at Hogwarts; the last delicious breakfast was of sumptuous puddings, warm oatmeal, and innumerable types of toast and jam, topped of with large honey-baked hams. Tom was just finishing his glass of pumpkin juice, as the other three boys talked.

"Well we won the House Cup."

"No duh, we've got Tom here to thank." Black said grinning at Tom, who said nothing.

"Did you ever find what you're looking for?" Nisin asked. The other two boys froze, as they waited for Tom's answer. It never came.

"Well I'm sure you'll find it sooner or later, with a brain like yours." Black said trying to lighten the mood. "I mean not even I can trace my family that far back, and I've got a magic tapestry with the family tree on it."

"That's right, all the magical families are interrelated. It's only a matter of time before you find some long-lost relative." Lestrange said reassuringly.

"Maybe you've got some kind of skill that a family's good at, like potions. Or Defense Against the Dark Arts, you're really good at that. Maybe you're related to an Auror or something. Come on think of any really unique skill. You've got about a hundred."

Tom stared at his glass, with its floral design. The vines of which twisted around the glass, almost snake-like.

"Well there is one thing." Tom looked up at the eagerly awaiting faces of the three boys. "I haven't given it much thought, but I suppose it'll do."

The other boys held their breaths as Tom inhaled deeply, pausing for dramatic effect.

"I can talk to snakes."

Black fell backwards out of his chair. Lestrange gasped, and placed his hand in a platter of butter. And Nisin just stared at Tom, mouth slackened.

"That's it. Why didn't we figure before? You told us about having an affinity with animals, snakes especially. Why didn't we see it?" Nisin muttered as he shook his head.

"What?"

Nisin looked at Tom with wide-eyes.

"You're a Parselmouth."  
"A what?"  
"A Parselmouth, you can talk to snakes."

"Your point?"  
"Riddle," Black interjected "Not just anyone can talk to snakes. Only descendents of one person could."

"Who?" Tom was growing impatient, "Tell me who?!"

"Salazar Slytherin."

A/N: Thanks to all of you who continue to read this! Some of you might be wondering why I had so many chapters leading up to Tom's time at Hogwarts, but I glossed over the first year. The answer is simple. I really wanted to cover all of Lord Voldemort's life up till the time that he attempts to murder Harry Potter. And seeing that I have attention span of a goldfish, I decided to make the hogwarts years in one or two chapters per year. This particular year was not very exciting, and it will probably require some editing. Oh and apologizes for the Sorting Hat's song in the previous chapter. It wasnt very good (__) regardless I will continue to write so that you can continue to unravel Tom Riddle's life. Enjoy!

To: Melora

I am so sorry that I did not write a response to your comment from so many chapters ago! Thanks for the site! I dont plan on visiting it just yet though. I dont want to steal somebody else's ideas and claim them as my own. But once this fanfiction is completed I will be sure to check it out!

To: Anonymous

Thanks so much for your review! I always love getting reviews! Hopefully I'll get more. But this fanfic hasn't been on the site very long, it's just that I feel like I should update every few days. I had hoped I did Tom justice. It was kind of difficult to get him to be in character, and yet still be loved by the school in this chapter. I hope that you feel that Tom's attitude wasnt strange in this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8: Year 2

Chapter 8

Year 2: Tom Riddle and the Legend of Slytherin

Not for the first time, a strange occurrence had happed at Grundler's Orphanage. Tom Riddle had vanished yet again. Where he went the residents of the orphanage did not know, nor did they ask. Every night, Tom returned at promptly six o'clock for an early dinner, after which he retired to his room.

Some of the children speculated that Tom had a girlfriend, or he was secretly training to be a spy, or that he was in fact some form of terrorist. In truth Tom Riddle was simply bored.

He grew tired of the ordinary orphanage, with all of its non-magical inhabitants. And in an attempt to retain his sanity, Tom had taken to wandering around London. Sometimes Tom would peruse the Muggle shops, searching for nothing in particular. But for the most part, Tom Riddle would head a few blocks north, and a block or two to the east, and find himself in front of the Leaky Cauldron. While its first impression is of a shabby, grubby looking pub, it is in fact a bar for wizards. And in the back of this pub, is the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Amongst the numerous shops of Diagon Alley, is one Flourish and Blotts, a wizarding bookstore that sells spellbooks. And among the tottering piles of books that seem like they're suspended by magic, is a young boy. This boy, huddled in a corner of the shop, is reading a book, his dark hair overshadowing his handsome face. He is unaware that in a few moments his peaceful reading is to be disrupted.

"YOU AGAIN?!" Screams a woman; she waves her wand at the twelve year old before he can even begin to utter a word. "DON'T COME BACK UNLESS YOU'RE BUYING SOMETHING!" She screams after him as he flies out the door.

Tom Riddle lands quite gracefully on the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley. After a few days he had grown accustomed to being ceremoniously thrown out of Flourish and Blotts, but this didn't stop him from glowering back over his shoulder.

With a huff, Tom Riddle trudged down the street. He had tried looking for work, but no shop owner was looking to hire an underage wizard. Tom was tired of buying second hand spellbooks. But as much as he hated buying items second hand, he loathed the idea of taking the money from the account that Hogwarts set aside for students like himself.

Tom paused at a particular stretch of wall, and looked up at the rusted crooked sign that hung there. It was a simple sign in the shape of an arrow pointing down a dark stone stairway. Another street could be seen at the bottom with other stores.

He had had no luck on Diagon Alley, so Tom shrugged and descended the steps. Upon reaching the bottom Tom came to a reasonable conclusion. The street was filthy. It was more of an alleyway than an actual street. The stores themselves looked run down and very dingy. Tom was extremely disappointed, but nevertheless, he approached one of the shops. As he did so a surge of excitement filled him. The shop was devoted to the Dark Arts!

Spinning around hurriedly, Tom rushed to the next store and peered through the glass. Poisonous candles were on display, coming in different varieties. Tom heard a creaking noise above him, and he looked up. A wooden sign was swinging in what little breeze had passed through. The sign simply read: Knockturn Alley.

"Riddle?"

Tom whirled around yet again, to find himself facing his schoolmate, Liam Nisin.

"What are you doing here?" Nisin asked as he approached Tom. He was wearing brand new emerald green robes, and was carrying a large wrapped box.

"That's none of your concern." Riddle answered icily.

"And who is this?" Tom looked up to see a man walk up to Nisin, and place a hand on his shoulder. It must have been Nisin's father. He had the same white blonde hair, and gray eyes.

"Ah, you must be Tom Riddle," he held out a hand, and Tom took it. "I am Liam's father, he has told me so much about you." Mr. Nisin smiled, " I must say I'm very impressed with how you've turned out. Living in that Muggle Orphanage." He shook his head.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't know how you put up with it. I can barely stand the Ministry allowing Mudbloods to work at the Ministry." Tom perked up at the mention of the Ministry of Magic.

"You work for the ministry, Mr. Nisin?"

"Oh yes, I do. Terribly boring work I must say." He waved the thought away.

"Speaking of which, I'm afraid we must be going Father." Nisin had pulled out a silver pocket watch and was examining the face.

"Ah, yes. I suppose we must." Mr. Nisin held out his hand again to Tom, "Well it was a pleasure meeting you." Tom took Mr. Nisin's hand yet again and shook it.

"Same here, sir." He said smiling.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Riddle," said Nisin.

Mr. Nisin and his son turned and began walking back down Knockturn Alley.

Tom checked his own watch, which read 5:30; he had better start heading back. He turned and walked back toward the staircase that led to Diagon Alley. At the bottom of the steps, he paused and looked down the alleyway one last time. Gazing at the shop selling shrunken heads, and the store across from it, with a sign he couldn't quite make out at this distance.

Grinning to himself, Tom Riddle walked up the steps. Heading back to Diagon Alley, well at least for the moment.

Tom settled himself on his bed, with its gray sheets, and he looked at the envelope he had left there early this morning. Opening it, Tom unfolded the heavy parchment paper within. The letter told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on September first. As well as a list of the new books he had already purchased at Diagon Alley.

As he refolded the letter, Tom's face was filled with a sort of ecstasy. After he placed the letter carefully on top of a small beat-up trunk, Tom crossed out a day on the calendar, and he went to sleep.

The next morning, Tom woke bright and early. He promptly pulled on some clothes and descended the stairs for breakfast. Martha was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the younger children. She froze up for a fraction of a second when Tom entered the room, but otherwise did nothing to acknowledge his presence. Not saying a word, she pulled out some money from her apron pocket and deposited it on the countertop.

Tom understood this to mean that this was to be his taxi fare, and he took it. Soon he was in a cab, pulling up to the busy station. He paid the driver, who placed the trunk on a handcart, and then strolled into King's Cross.

It was half past ten. Tom casually walked along the platform, heading toward the entrance to Platform 9 ¾.

"Tom!" It was Black. Arcturus Black, pulled up his cart alongside Tom's, and gestured to a regal looking couple behind him.

"This is my mum and dad." They both sniffed haughtily.

"I hear you placed top in your class." Mr. Black said looking down at Tom.

"Yes, sir."

"Well I for one am quite glad our son managed to find a decent friend like you." Mrs. Black's tone was genuine, but she cast a disapproving look at Tom's second-hand trunk and robes.

"Shall we get to the platform?" Black asked.

Tom simply nodded and led the way.

Moments later, he and the Black family were standing in a large crowd in front of a scarlet steam engine. The sign Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was hanging above their heads.

"Oy! Over here!" A voice shouted over the din. Black and Tom turned to see Lestrange hanging out of an open compartment window, flagging them down.

Tom and Black were soon in the compartment that Lestrange and Nisin had been saving for them.

"How was your summer?" Lestrange asked Tom as he placed Tom's trunk in the overhead compartment.

"Not very eventful."  
Silence filled the compartment.

"S-so how was your summer Lestrange?" Black stuttered, trying to break the tension.

The rest of the trip passed in this manner. Tom did not say much, but he was lost deep in thought. It was true; his summer hadn't been very eventful. He had searched for some record of Salazar Slytherin's bloodline, but it seemed that the information was lost long ago. None of the books at Flourish and Blotts had procured any results. His last hope was the Hogwarts library.

The train pulled into Hogsmeade station, and the students piled out into the pitch-black night. The familiar call of "First years! First years over here!" rang out through the dark, but Tom and his group were no longer first years. The followed the throng towards a set of carriages that stood before them. The carriages were barely visible over the heads of the crowds. Only the tops of the black seats could be seen.

"What was that?" Tom asked to his entourage in general, he had heard a strange noise. Almost like a snort.

"What noise?" Black looked confused.

Tom said nothing, for he had seen the cause. A skeletal winged black horse stood before the carriages, tossing its' mane and pawing at the ground.

They piled into the carriage, and the horses proceeded towards the castle.

"What are they?"  
"What're what?" Lestrange answered

"Those, the horses."

"What are you talking about Tom?" Black looked at Tom with a puzzled expression.

"Thestrals," answered Nisin, "Father told me they pulled the school carriages. You must have seen someone die. That's the only way you'd be able to see them at all."

Tom pondered this as the carriage came to a stop at the main gates.

The four departed from their carriage, which immediately took off back down the road. They entered through the large front doors, following the general flow of students towards the Great Hall.

Soon they were seated comfortably at the Slytherin table. Floating candles illuminated the hall, and the four hourglasses that recorded house points glimmered brilliantly in the corner of the room.

Then Professor Dumbledore entered, followed by a procession of timid looking first years. After they had reached the front of the Great Hall, Dumbledore procured a four-legged stool, and placed the ragged Sorting Hat upon it. There was a moment's silence as everyone peered at the hat. A rip near the brim opened, and the hat began to sing.

I'm not the best looking hat

I know this to be true

But if you judge by appearances

Well then, shame on you

You can try to search far and wide

Search as long as you please

But only the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

Can put your mind at ease

So worry not, and soon you'll see

That I can set you right

For soon you'll be grouped into four

In this hall tonight

You might be placed in Gryffindor

They're definitely brave.

They have strength, and they have courage

And stand their ground when they're afraid

You might belong in Hufflepuff

They're steady and they're true

In patient perseverance

These are students you can't outdo

Perhaps you'll be in Ravenclaw

They're clever with their wit

With intelligence and smarts

In strength of mind, they are surely fit

Or maybe placed in Slytherin

They're a power thirsty lot

Using anything to gain

In this house pure blood is vastly sought

So come on, have a seat.

And place me on your head

I shall place you in your house

Based on the thoughts I've read.

The sorting had begun.

A/N: Thank you for reading yet another chapter of Tom Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort! I'm very sorry for the delayed update, I was working on the Sorting Hat song. I am aware that the last chapter was extremely rushed, and ridiculously short. But if you read the replies to the reviews I have received you will gain a grasp of my intentions.

Also to any readers who felt that I had serious problems in my previous chapter, please read the second incredibly long reply to a comment I received, which can be viewed by clicking the reviews button. Hopefully any of you who have any questions or concerns will be put at ease by my response. Thank you so much.

To: Anonymous

Thanks for the comment! I like people like you who can point things like Slughorn not being as old as he would in Harry's time. But, I never did say he was as old, just that he was old. In the sixth book, when he's described, he's still fat, old, and bald, or at least balding. Let's just say Tom's a very judgmental person.

I was debating the entire time about whether to make the years one chapter or several. It took a lot of time to figure out what would happen throughout the years. And seeing that there is no sorcerer's stone conspiracy to entertain you readers with, it ended up being short. It was definitely rushed though, I have to say, and I'll be making the years longer than one chapter from now on :) I hope the sorting hat's song this year was to your liking!

To: Basilisk's Fang

I just absolutely loved your comment! Like I said to Anonymous above, I really do like people who point things out to me! Although I have to say there is some artistic license to what I have written, which I will point out.

The pure blood/Muggle-born conflict was escalated enough in the past to cause Lord Voldemort and other pure blood wizards to kill Muggle-borns and Muggles alike, as well as torturing and manipulating them. And seeing that the Muggle hunting is reminiscent of the Civil Rights era's lynching of blacks as well as segregation and hatred (which took place in the 1960's in the U.S.) I don't think it's that unreasonable. Especially since the first years weren't allowed to do magic on the train, and that they don't know how to do magic yet anyway. So waving a wand in someone's face isn't much of a threat.

Concerning the matter of Arcturs Black, he actually would not have been at Hogwarts the same time as Tom Riddle. In fact, none of the Black Family would have been enrolled in Hogwarts in the same year as Tom Riddle as the recorded members of the family who were closest in age to Tom (born in 1927) were Walburga born 1925 and Cygnus born 1929. I had no idea that J.K. Rowling had published a Black Family Tree. But I wanted the readers to see a familiar name that they didn't entirely hate, but have the ability to realize what kind of family Sirius Black came from. Thus I settled on Black.

The idea of the entire Slytherin house staying for Tom's birthday is slightly idealistic, I admit it. But his birthday is on January 1st, and Tom Riddle would not return to Grundler's Orphanage. So considering the prestigious positions of his 'friends'. I considered they would pull a few strings to gather their house together for celebrations, to curry favor with their group's leader.

The fact that Tom Riddle is a Parselmouth was revealed before Tom was in his sixth year. Considering that most of the boys in the Slug Club knew this already, and that most were younger than Tom himself, it would stand to reason that Tom had revealed this much earlier, and his position as Slytherin's heir had already been established. What's more they did not turn him in the previous year, when he opened the Chamber of Secrets and killed the girl currently known as Moaning Myrtle. Meaning that they knew beforehand and respected Tom and his actions enough to keep their mouths shut.

I did mention that he always put on a façade at Hogwarts, especially to the teachers. But to those who are like-minded, he is able to reveal a small portion of his true nature, as well as his desire to boast.

It was mentioned in Book 6 that anyone who knew Tom Riddle when he was a student and who was willing to talk about him said that he was obsessed with his parentage. These are students who would hardly know the true Tom Riddle at all. So in my mind, it seemed natural that those who were closer to him would try to assist Tom in his search for his ancestry.

Liam Nisin is an entirely fictional character. I figured that having a character from whom nothing was expected (via last name) would suit my purposes very well. He is merely there to support Tom Riddle, and be the epitome of a subservient precursor of a Death Eater, and Tom's power over others.

Sorry about the ridiculously long reply, but I hope you found my explanations to your liking. And quite frankly I hope that the plot development will keep you an avid reader of Tom Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort. I shall try to make this fanfiction of a wizarding world as realistic as possible. Thanks for your comment! :)


	9. Chapter 9: Year 2 Part 2

Chapter 9

Year 2: Tom Riddle and The Legend of Slytherin (Part 2)

Tom Riddle was- to put it frankly- bored out of his mind. Classes had resumed, and he was currently sitting in Professor Merrythought's Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"So as you can see, the banshee is a most formidable opponent." He pointed his wand at a screen that had been setup at the front of the classroom, and the image changed to that of a woman. She had pale skin and a gaunt face; her straight black hair was fanned out behind her as she swooped upon the photographer.

Tom Riddle, who was sitting at the front of the classroom yawned, and stretched his arms.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle? Do you have a question?" Professor Merrythought had seen Tom's outstretched hand and was waiting expectantly.

Tom cursed silently, and then smiled at his Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.

"Actually sir, I do. As the banshee's scream is their most powerful form of attack, what would the effects be upon those who are deaf?"

Professor Merrythought paused a moment, pondering the answer.

"That is a most excellent question Riddle." He beamed at Tom, "The effect of a banshee's scream would definitely be reduced on those who are hearing impaired…" Professor Merrythought resumed the lesson.

"You weren't really wondering about banshees at all were you?" Nisin whispered to Tom, who smiled.

"What are you talking about Nisin? I take my studies very seriously."

As soon as the lesson was over, Tom was headed for the library. It had become his usual habit. The teachers of Hogwarts always assumed he studied for his classes, which resulted in his unusually high marks. But those who knew Tom Riddle better knew he wasn't studying. Although for the most part, they didn't know what Tom was researching any more than the teachers.

After discovering that Tom Riddle Senior was not a wizard. Tom immersed himself in the idea that he was a descendent of one of the noble founders of the school. The very wizard who founded the house he himself was in.

Salazar Slytherin.

He was consumed by the very notion. Disregarding his mother's identity, Tom skipped straight to his grandfather. Marvolo.

But this is where he always hit a dead end. No matter what records he searched, no matter what books he read, Tom Riddle could find no record of a family tree of Salazar Slytherin. Nor of any man with the first name Marvolo.

Tom ran his fingers through his dark hair for what seemed like the thousandth time. His temples were throbbing from the prolonged hours of concentration. Tom slammed the book in front of him, the peeling gold font on the cover read: Hogwarts Student Roster: Years 1017-1024. Tom threw the leather bound book on top of a pile, the topmost volume showed the same peeling gold font of the years 1009-1016.

Pulling his bag on, Tom made his way through the innumerable bookshelves and out of the library. He made his way down towards the dungeons. Walking down the stone corridor, the light from the torches ensconced on the walls cast harsh shadows across Tom's face. Stopping in front of a stretch of wall at the end of the corridor, Tom said,

"Ouroboros." The wall vanished, and Tom made his way into the Slytherin common room. The entire room was rather dim, but there was a fire blazing in the hearth. The light from the fire made the armchairs ominous silhouettes.

Tom flopped into his favorite armchair, a black leather chair, with a high back and armrests. Placing his elbows on the armrests, Tom laced his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. He stared at the fireplace, when he heard a familiar set of footsteps approach him from behind.

"Your father," Tom said, and the footsteps came to an abrupt halt, "said he worked at the Ministry of Magic, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did," Nisin's voice gave no sign that he had almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Tom's voice.

"I was wondering," Tom rose from his chair and walked toward the fire, staring into the embers. His profile was a black shadow against the blaze from the hearth. Tom turned to face Nisin, his eyes reflecting the light portentously, and then he continued,

"Would your father be able to get me a census from the Ministry of Magic?"

Nisin placed down his bag upon a table, and turned on a lamp. Pulling his books from his bag, Nisin answered, "I suppose. Yes, I believe he would be able to."

"Do you know how long it would take to have them sent here." It wasn't a question, but a command. Tom's voice rang high and cold in the empty common room.

"I'll send him an owl tonight."

"Very well." Tom stepped away from the fireside, and made his way to the dormitory.

"I think I'll have a bit of supper."

And with that Tom left the common room.

The next morning, the whole school was in a state of chaos. Tomorrow was Halloween, and the Great Hall was looking extremely festive. While the floating pumpkins were only used during the Halloween feast, the enormous jack-o-lanterns were already set up through out the hall. Festive autumn leaves were lazily drifting from the enchanted ceiling.

Tom, Lestrange, Black, and Nisin were all sitting at the Slytherin table, enjoying a breakfast of toast with jam, pancakes, and fried eggs. They were just finishing up the last bit of the orange juice, when a hundred owls flew into the Great Hall. The mail had arrived.

A pure white owl landed with a rustle of wings and feathers, in front of Nisin. The owl proffered his leg, and Nisin removed the scroll of parchment, and then promptly handed it to Tom. It read:

_Dear Liam,_

_I'm sure that I can procure the records that you requested, although it may take some time. I suspect that I should be able to have a copy sent within the week._

_-Sincerely,_

_Father_

Tom looked up from the letter, and handing it back to Nisin, he said. "Good work."

Halloween passed by in a flurry of orange pumpkins and a sumptuous feast. And soon the cold November winds began to pick up; bringing with it the same white owl that had delivered the letter the day before Halloween.

But it was not the only owl. At least half a dozen owls fluttered down before the group, each carrying a parcel attached to its leg.

The four quickly began untying parcel after parcel, and the owls set off once again into the blustery gray sky.

Tom and his entourage made their way back to their common room, to deposit the parcels before lessons began. But only three boys left the Slytherin dormitories to attend lessons. Tom Riddle went immediately to the hospital wing, after having performed a complicated little hex –of his own invention –upon himself, to give him the appearance of someone suffering from a terrible cold. Madam Pomfrey immediately sent him to a bed and bustled away to bring him medicine.

Once he was comfortably settled, Tom Riddle pulled out one of the parcels from his bag. He carefully untied the white string that was tied around the brown paper that covered the package. Once the paper covering was removed, he could see the sheaves of parchment underneath. The whole pile was about as thick as his hand was wide, and covered with miniscule handwriting.

Tom Riddle began to read.

A/N: I'm really sorry about the late update. But I've been getting ready to head back to school. So I wont be updating as often as I used to. Hopefully I will be able to update once a week. Thanks for your continued readership, as always it is much appreciated!

To: Basilisk's Fang

Thanks again for your comment! I'm glad to see that you enjoyed this chapter. Now onto the reply.

To answer your question of when it was mentioned that Tom was a known Parselmouth, it basically came from speculation coupled with some guesswork. In the seventh book, Tom is seen at the Slug Club trying to get information about Horcruxes. At this time, he's wearing Marvolo's ring. Since he killed Morfin, and obtained the ring in the summer before his sixth year. It's possible that this happened in his seventh year, but at the very least those in the club knew he was related to Salazar Slytherin. A sure fire way to convince others would be the rare talent of talking to snakes. I hope my deduction seems plausible to you :) Also good luck with your Tom Riddle fanfic!

Personally I agree with you about caps locks, it does get quite irritating, but I was attempting to mimic J.K. Rowling's style of using caps when someone is shouting or particularly angry.

The part about Tom's removal from Flourish and Blotts, if you look at it from the perspective of an angry woman in the late 1930s, who had been dealing with a boy who constantly read (but did not buy) books. I think his removal is a little more plausible back then, at least compared to today's point of view.

You wouldn't believe how long that Sorting Hat's song took! I'm glad you approve.

To: Anonymous

Quite personally I too enjoy the anonymousness of your comments :) Maybe you could get an account with the name anonymous, if it hasn't already been taken.

The 'God yes keep going!' part makes me so happy! It really does!

I thought I put the party was on New Years Eve, or was held at the same time the New Year's Eve party was, which is incidentally December 31st, I'll have to check.

I have not specified why Tom could see the thestrals, but I'm planning to put that bit of information in one of my later chapters. So keep an eye out for it!

Tom will definitely venture off into Knockturn Alley whenever he gets the chance. But for what purpose? (Dramatic music goes here)

I am planning to do all seven sorting hat songs. Yes, I am that crazy :)


	10. Chapter 10: Year 2 Part 3

Chapter 10

Year 2: Tom Riddle and The Legend of Slytherin (Part 3)

Nothing. Not a single thing. Tom Riddle threw the last of the stack of papers onto his bed. He had long left the hospital wing, and was now rereading the census that Nisin's father had sent from the Ministry of Magic. There was absolutely no record what so ever of his family. There was no Tom Riddle. Or a Marvolo Riddle for that matter.

Tom Riddle collapsed onto his bed, running his fingers through his hair in anger. What could he have missed? There would be no possible way for him to have overlooked something? What was it? What?

"Tom? You coming?"  
Tom looked up to see Lestrange peering at him from the doorway, trying to be as subtle as possible.

"Yes, I'll be there momentarily." Tom rose from his bed and straightened his robes.

"Shall I wait for you?" Lestrange asked tentatively.

"No," Tom stared at the papers that were scattered over his bed, "No, you may take your leave."  
Lestrange nodded and exited. Tom looked at the census on his bed for a moment longer. There was one page that had struck his interest. He had separated it from the jumbled mess on his bed. A single page selected from the thousands was placed on his nightstand next to the ornate silver lamp fashioned like a snake. Tom picked up the page and looked at the name that had caught his attention for what was probably the thousandth time.

_Gaunt, Marvolo_

This family, the Gaunt family, had a man named Marvolo. There had been no other instance of the name Marvolo. It was certainly not a common name. Tom gazed at the name as if it would divulge an answer to the question that kept running through his mind.

Was it possible?

Tom folded the paper and pocketed it.

Perhaps, he had been wrong. Perhaps, his mother had not been a Muggle at all. No, it could not be. She had died. A witch would never die. Not with the power of magic at her disposal. Was there something that had prevented her from using her magic?

He could not think of any reason a witch would not be able to use magic. Death was for the weak. He would never submit to such a human weakness. No. No, he would not. There should be a way. There had to be a way that one could triumph over death. He absolutely refused to acknowledge the sheer magnitude of the task he set before himself. Tom knew he was brilliant. All of the teachers and his fellow students were always praising his magical abilities, and rightfully so. So it stood to reason that his mother was a powerful witch. Yes, there had to have been something, anything that had prevented her from using her magic.

Pathetic. He had wasted so much time on a Muggle. It was disgusting. Tom chuckled to himself in the empty dormitory. His quiet laughter slowly grew louder till he was laughing manically. The furniture in the dormitory did not completely stop his laughter from echoing off of the stone walls. Gradually Tom desisted. It was ironic, almost funny. He the best student to every cross the threshold of this school was a half-blood. Tom had resigned himself to this fact when he believed his mother to be a Muggle. But the realization and absolute proof that his father was definitely not of magical blood, was revolting. Muggles did not have the powers of wizards. They could not even begin to fathom the supremacy of the secret magical race that existed amongst them. They were lesser beings, subject to such a human weakness as death.

Muggles should die.

Tom glanced back to the nightstand by his bed.

A second sheet of paper sat on the little nightstand. The only thing written was one line.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom riddle picked up this piece of paper, and pulled out his wand. A jet of flames erupted from the wand tip, igniting the paper. Tom let the parchment fall to the wood floor where it slowly burned. There was no trace on the floor of a fire. No burn marks to even signify that something had been set alight. There was not even a pile of ash where the paper had slowly been eaten by the flames.

He did not need the name Tom Marvolo Riddle any longer. He would fashion for himself a new name. A name that suited him. A name that did not belong to some filthy Muggle, or some failure of a witch that could not even escape death. A name that everyone would come to fear to even utter.

It only took him a moment to rearrange the letters in his head. Such a simple task. And within a second that name began to take form.

A full-length mirror across the room caught Tom's reflection. In the dim light of the Slytherin dormitory, Tom Riddle looked rather pale.

Tom Riddle looked at his reflection and smiled. The mirror-Tom returned his malicious grin.

"Are you alright?" Lestrange was back, apparently he had not left for the Great Hall. Black, Nisin, and a few other Slytherins were crowded outside of the door.

"We're all waiting for you Tom." One piped up.  
"No, not Tom." He spun around quickly.

"What?" Nisin asked. The expression of the group mimicked the question.

"Not Tom." He drew himself up and a slow leer crossed his handsome face.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

A/N: I am really sorry to those of you loyal readers, and to those who have been waiting for the next chapter. It's really short, of that I am aware. But with everything that's been going on it has been insane. This also would be my excuse as to why I have not updated in what seems like eternity. I'll be on break in a week or so. I hope that I will be able to continue writing this fanfic. Please tell me what you think, the more comments the sooner I will update, ha ha ha.


	11. Chapter 11: Year 2 Part 4

Chapter 11

Year 2: Tom Riddle and The Legend of Slytherin

Part 4: Murmurs

"Tom. Tom?"

It didn't seem as if he could pretend he hadn't heard over the bustle of his fellow classmates' packing.

Reluctantly Voldemort turned around, "Yes, Professor Slughorn?"

"A moment, if you would?"

The rest of the class was filing out. His group was waiting. He nodded his head to his friends and smiled so Slughorn could see, "I'll just be a moment, you lot go on ahead without me."

Nisin inclined his head and left. The other's followed.

"Save me a pumpkin pasty." He called after them as he headed toward the front of the potions class. Professor Slughorn looked down at the boy, his face looked even flabbier than it had in Tom's first year. It seemed as if the Professor was enjoying the lavish presents his previous favorites had sent him. As if to illustrate this point, Slughorn pulled out a box of chocolate frogs.

"Would you like one?" He asked proffering the box.

"Thank you, Professor. Might I ask why you've asked me to stay?"

"I have that permission form you requested, Tom." Slughorn said, quickly popping the chocolate frog into his fat mouth before it hopped away. "Can't say I'm not curiously intrigued as to why you need a book from the Restricted Section of the library, but there you are, my boy." Slughorn began rummaging through the piles of parchment on his desk before extracting a single sheet.

"Thank you, Professor," he took the proffered parchment eagerly, "I wanted to do some research on Salazar Slytherin and his work." He smiled innocently as he put the permission form into his bag, "Unfortunately most of his work was focused on the more…shadowy corners of magic. But if I want to work in the Department of Mysteries one day I need to learn as much as I can about all sorts of magic."  
Slughorn nodded knowingly his hands folded complacently over his girth, "Too true, too true. But be mindful, Tom," he looked down at the boy pointedly, "Be mindful that you don't get too…enamored with the darker forms of magic. They're much too grim for a young boy like yourself."  
A look of shock seemed appropriate.

"Of course not Professor Slughorn! I'd never even dream of it." He smiled once again, "If that's all, I really should be going."

"Yes, yes, of course." Slughorn waved him away, "Off with you lad."  
With a nod of his head, he made toward the exit.

"Tom?"

A sharp inhale. He turned, with a wide-eyed innocent look. "Yes, Professor?"

"I'm expecting great things from you, my boy, great things."

A small smile crept across the boy's face. "Naturally. Good day, sir." And with a quick turn, he left the dungeon classroom.

The corridor was practically deserted. The soft tap-tap-tap of shoes echoed off the cold stone walls as he made his way toward the Great Hall. He slowed to a halt.

A short burst of a chuckle escaped his lips. His shoulders were shaking as he tried to contain his mirth. There was no one around. Slughorn would be tucked away in his office indulging himself on whatever little bribes his previous favorites had sent him.

It should be alright to indulge himself, just this once, no one was around to hear him.

And so Voldemort laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed until it sounded as if there were thousands of Voldemorts laughing in the corridor. An army.

Voldemort threw his head back still laughing.

Oh yes. He'd do great things, most certainly. It wouldn't do to disappoint his dear professor's expectations.

His chest was heaving, gasping for breath, as his raucous laughter slowly died down. Voldemort closed his eyes, gradually regaining control.

"Great things," he murmured, "I will do great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Voldemort made his way towards the library. He had more important things to do than be fawned over, praised, and whatever other rubbish he'd have to endure in the Great Hall.

The library was quiet. Madame Pince was sitting behind her desk as usual. Voldemort quietly made his way over to the counter.

"Good Afternoon, Madame Pince," he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. She didn't raise her head, but cast a glance in his direction.

"Yes?"

"I'd like this book, please." He slid the form from his bag and onto her desk.

Madame Pince looked down her beak like nose at the parchment, "What in the name of Merlin would a second-year need with a book on such dark magic."  
"Just some light reading."  
Madame Pince raised her eyebrows, "Very well, I'll be back in a moment."

Voldemort watched as Madame Pince disappeared into the back. Casually he glanced over the books littering her desk, waiting to be placed back on the shelves.

_Hippogriff Baiting_

_ Magical Laws: 1900-1907_

_ Counter-curse Handbook_

Nothing to quite pique his interest. Voldemort glanced over to the Restricted Section. Madame Pince had yet to return, and he couldn't see her over the towering shelves. A flash of bright color caught his eye as he scanned the Restricted Section's shelves. An ornate cover on display far in the distance boasting a sign that said, "Only those with special appointment may read this manuscript."

Interesting.

Voldemort craned his neck, trying to decipher the flowery writing on the cover.

It definitely said something about either Hogwash or something and it's…history? No wait. It didn't say Hogwash. It said Hogwarts.

Very interesting.

Madame Pince appeared between the shelves, and was making her way back to the front desk.

"Well, here you are. _Magick Moste Evile. _Is that all you'll be wanting?"  
Voldemort smiled, "Actually I was wondering if there were any other copies of _Hogwarts, A History. _You see, I'm doing research on Salazar Slytherin, for Professor Slughorn."

Madame Pince regarded him for a moment before speaking, "Well, there are a few copies."

Within a few moments, Voldemort was huddled in a corner of the library, thankful that he had a free period today.

He decided to flip through _Magick Moste Evile _first. Immortality could not wait for a passing fancy.

Voldemort skimmed through the dark spells.

Jinxes

_ Anti-Disapparition Jinx_

_ Backfiring Jinx_

_ Cascading Jinx_

_ Finger-removing Jinx_

_ Impediment Jinx_

_ Leek Jinx_

_ Revulsion Jinx_

Mostly useless.

_Hexes_

_ Bat-Bogey Hex_

_ Horn-growing Hex_

_ Hurling Hex_

_ Instant scalping Hex_

Amusing.

_Curses._

Here we are

_Blasting Curse: Causes anything the spell comes in contact with to explode_

_Conjunctivitis Curse: Curse that causes irritation in the target's eyes, causes eyes to swell shut._

_ Cruciatus Curse: Inflicts excruciating pain on the victim_

_Fiendfyre Curse: Fire made from Dark Magic, very difficult to control_

_ Gemino Curse: Curse that causes whatever object it is cast on to duplicate itself whenever touched_

_ Imperius Curse: When cast successfully, it place victim under the caster's control_

_ Killing Curse: Causes instantaneous death_

Very interesting. Voldemort smiled as he flipped through to what he really was looking for. His face darkened as he flipped to the appropriate page. It was nothing more than a simple paragraph. What could it possibly tell him about achieving immortality.

_A Horcrux is a powerful object, which gives one the ability to resurrect oneself if the body is destroyed._

Disappointing. Utterly disappointing. He threw the book and swore loudly. Almost instantly Madame Pince appeared behind him.

"Young man, if you are going to throw books and scream at the top of your lungs. I will have to request that you leave immediately." She glowered down at him.

Voldemort pasted a painful smile on his face.

"I'm terribly sorry, Madame Pince." He stood and gathered the copy of _Magick Moste Evile. _"I was just so…disgusted with the content of the book. I think I'll be returning it." He handed her the useless thing.

"Very well, regardless, I will have to ask that you leave immediately."

Voldemort nodded, gathered his things and left, fuming.

"What was this nonsense. It had taken him ages to even find any information about immortality. And now that he had finally found a way to make himself immortal, there was no information at all. Horcruxes. Horcruxes.

"My Lord," a voice called.

Voldemort turned. Nisin was hurrying down the hallway toward him.

"Ah, Nisin. What is it?"

"We missed you at lunch." He stopped, "Is something the matter?"

"Just a string of disappointments." Voldemort sighed. _And just when it seemed so close._

"Anything I can do to help, my Lord?"

"No, no…unless. What can you tell me about immortality?"

"Nothing I haven't told you before, my Lord."

Voldemort glowered, "I've turned up nothing of import. Alchemy proved to be a failure."

"But it is the only way to become immortal."

"Bah," he spat, "Dependence on an elixir is no way to live. What point is there to unbind yourself from mortality only to condemn yourself to a lifetime of servitude to something that will only prolong your life, rather than protect you from mortal injury. And unicorn's blood is a farce. A useful ingredient, but nothing else." The two boys headed down the staircase to the entrance hall. "The only thing I have learned is one word. Horcrux."

"What is it?"  
"Something that stands closest to true immortality, Nisin." Voldemort stopped in front of the short cut to the dungeons, a portrait of Salazar Slytherin. He wasn't there at the moment. All that was left was a dark green background, with a black drape hanging in the corner.

"Mortal Death." Voldemort murmured.

"Not to be rude my Lord, but if Slytherin is not in his portrait it wont open."  
"I am perfectly aware of that, you fool." Voldemort snapped. He returned his gaze to the empty portrait. "But how, how do I escape it?"

END

A/N: Wow it's been a while. Thanks to those of you who are still reading this. I know it's been a long time coming, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I don't know if I'll be able to continue writing, although I would really like to. Life just likes to get in the way of me doing things. Regardless, I think I might continue this project. It's always nice to know that people are enjoying this story.

I'd like to finish this within the next year or so, but we'll see. Wow it was almost an entire year since I've last updated. Now I feel bad.

So thanks to Sllsdlal for commenting. I really appreciate it :)

Hopefully this chapter was amazing enough to fit your standards. I'll try to update as much as possible, but no promises.

Disclaimer: Most of the explanations of the spells and the book titles were from the Harry Potter wiki. I own nothing in this story, except for a few of the side characters like Nisin, etc. and mushing everything together into the words you see on the page.


	12. Chapter 12: Year 2 Part 5

Chapter 12

Year 2: Tom Riddle and The Legend of Slytherin

Part 5: The Deathday Party

"My Lord?"  
"Yes? What is it, Mulciber?" Voldemort turned to look at the first year who had addressed him. Mulciber beamed, "Well My Lord, I thought I should inform you that, recently there has been a bit of a a disturbance."

Voldemort pivoted on his bench, abandoning his meal. The others who had joined him for lunch in the Great Hall had fallen silent.

"Is a disturbance, something to be so happy about?"

Mulciber's smile dropped, "Oh! N-no My Lord!"

A flicker of blue from the front of the Great Hall caught his attention. Dumbledore was watching.

Voldemort laughed, "Relax, Mulciber, it was a joke. Here have a seat." He gestured to the spot next to him that Lestrange was currently occupying. "Be a good man, Lestrange, and move over for our junior, would you?"

Lestrange scuttled along the bench hurriedly as he made room.

"Th-thank you!" Mulciber sat down amongst the older boys, some of them even fifth years. He looked rather small and meek next to the other boys, like a mouse amongst owls.

"So," Voldemort said, tucking in to his apple cobbler once more, "What were you saying?"

"Oh...yes," Mulciber cleared his throat, "Well, My Lord."

Voldemort could feel the blue eyes boring holes in his back. He waved a casually dismissive hand, "Don't worry about the plesantries. If there's a problem, I'd like to do what I can."

Mulciber seemed taken aback by Voldemort's flippant mood. Relieved, the younger boy started once more, "Well...um...sir. Recently, we've been getting word that someone's been asking around about you."

"Oh?" Voldemort said reaching for his glass of pumpkin juice, "And why should I be concerned about that?"

"Well, the thing is...we don't know who is trying to dig up the information."

Voldemort frowned at the informant, "So you mean to tell me that _someone_ has been trying to weasel information out of my _dear_ friends about _me _?" When the pawn nodded, he laughed, "And this should concern me?"

"Sh-shouldn't it?"

Taking a long easygoing swig of pumpkin juice, Voldemort processed his options. If the investigator discovered anything that he had been looking into recently, it would be rather inconvenient. But best not to let anyone know that.

He set down his drained glass of pumpkin juice, only to have it instantly refilled by one of his group. "I don't have the luxury to be worried about every pesky pixie that sticks its nose where it doesn't belong. If a mouse wants to enter the snake's lair, let them come." Voldemort shrugged noncommitally. "And now if you'll excuse me, I have some reading for Charms to do."

He stood, followed instantly by the rest of his comrades, save Mulciber.

As he turned Voldemort whispered so quietly that only Mulciber could hear, "Tell the little rat that for me, will you?"

"M-my Lord?"

Voldemort smiled serenely and placed a hand on Mulciber's shoulder and said, "See you soon." before departing for the Slytherin dungeon common room.

Once inside, Lord Voldemort sat down in the most comfortable armchair by the fire and lazily flipped through the pages of his book, pretending to read.

It was starting to get chilly, what with winter approaching. He supposed they would start to send out the notices for those who would be remaining at Hogwarts over the winter holidays soon. A pair of shoes entered his line of sight, but Voldemort made no move to acknowledge his visitor.

"My Lord?"

The peon standing before him waited another moment before clearing his throat, "M-my Lord?"

"What?" He looked up from his book a slight frown on his face, as if he had been disturbed at a particularly interesting part, "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" Tom glanced down at his book again.

"Forgive me, My Lord, but there's someone who wishes to see you."

Voldemort raised his eyes from the page, but said nothing. The boy before him continued in a rush, "You see, he wishes to join our...our group." He gulped out the words.

A crooked brow. So the rat had come. "And?"

"And...? My Lord?"

Voldemort laughed lightly, "I can't very well make friends with someone I don't know. Who is he?"

"That would be me." A pale blonde boy of fourteen stepped forward, pushing the nervous aside. Voldemort knew this boy: Everett Avery. The information appeared in his mind's eye as the boy waited for a sign. He came from a good wizarding family with strong connections to the Ministry of Magic. At least a dozen generations of witches and wizards, all Slytherin of course. He was even a member of the Slug Club. Ah...that's where he knew him. A quiet boy, quite like himself, prone to listening and waiting patiently to strike. Avery would make a fine addition to his growing little group. But first, let's make him squirm.

"And you are?"

Avery blanched. It was subtle enough that the others didn't notice, but Voldemort saw. He saw the way Avery's eyebrows twitched upward a fraction of an inch. The way his eyes were already calclating what would be best to say next, as he had not anticipated this answer. The faint sheen of sweat that shone on his forehead in the flicker of the firelight from the fireplace behind Voldemort's armchair.

Leisurely, Voldemort leaned his chin in his hand, smiling lazily. "I have no time for fool's who can't even remember their own name."

Another twitch. Avery's eyes darted to the side, avoiding Voldemort's piercing, yet dismissive gaze.

"Avery."

"Ah...so he speaks." Voldemort crossed his legs casually, flicking a piece of lint off the prisitine black robes, "And to what do I owe the pleasure of having my reading disrupted, Avery?"

The older boy licked his lips, "You are everything they say you are."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He propped his still open book in his hand, tapping the cover against his cheek.

So, there was talk now?

He'd have to quash that.

"They say you know...things."

Voldemort sighed, feigning disappointment, "If you're looking for a tutor, I'm afraid I don't have the time."

Avery laughed.

Voldemort sat up a bit. This was not the reaction he had been expecting. Stuttering, perhaps. Out right anger even. But laughter?

"My apologies, My Lord." Avery bowed his head.

Voldemort's face grew cold, but behind his mask a smile graced his mind. "I'm not your lord, insolent boy."

Avery did not react to the insult from Voldemort, who was two years his junior. He merely said, "Forgive me, I did not mean to overstep my welcome."

"And forgive me," Voldemort's voice was cold. He rose from his chair and stared at Avery. "I do believe you came to me uninvited." Slowly Voldemort walked toward him. "What show of impudence is this, hm?" The soft tap of Voldemort's leather shoes resounded through the silent Slytherin common room. Those not within his good graces had scurried away to their holes like mice before a snake. Avery, however, was rooted to the spot, caught in the steely gaze of the serpent he had angered.

_Forrrrsssshiiiiiraaaaalessss ss_

The quiet hiss of Parseltongue left Voldemort's lips, and Avery's calm demeanor broke. Sweat was now beading on the other boy's forehead. He was shaking, looking as though he wanted to run. Voldemort laughed harshly and coldly at the boy's petrified state. This was something that no magic could create, this was a magic all his own.

_Sssulshussss rasssssser. Veniiiiireee ashhhh, uuuut aaadveeeshhh quuuuaerenssss diiiimiiissssshiiiionnnn_

It was exhilirating, to feel the fear that fell off this fool before him. Best to break the ones like these early.

Voldemort now stood before him. He was full head and a half shorter than Avery. Leisurely, Voldemort crooked a finger and beckoned Avery closer. Avery obliged as if mesmerized and bowed his head lower until his ear was level with Voldemort's mouth.

"I suggest you stop treading in dangers territory." Voldemort whispered, his voice barely above a hiss. "It's a dangerous game you play, especially with me as your opponent." Voldemort's comrades shuffled on the fringes, surrounding them like a black wall of darkness.

"If you wish to join us, then you will walk an even more dangerously dark path."

Avery gulped audibly, but the sound was swallowed by the silence. "Unless you are willing to die, right here, right now. I suggest you slink back to wherever you came from. The darkness is no play to play."

When Avery did not raise his head Voldemort smiled and turned to return to his homework.

"Consider this your deathday. Welcome to the Death Eaters."

* * *

And so ends a year of hiatus. How time flies. Again my thanks to those of you still reading this. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know I said last year that I'd have liked to finish this fic by this year, but we all know how that went. Instead, there is now a set schedule for the chapter posting. Hopefully this way it will become more regular. So please check back at the end of each month for another installment of Tom Marvolo Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort.


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